


Prophecies

by SlothsTheSinICaterTo



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Heavily detailed, Insipired by Norse Mythology and the Movies, Post-Movie(s), Pre-Movie(s), Saga-type, Various themes, dark themes, long fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 15:28:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 39
Words: 219,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2115072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlothsTheSinICaterTo/pseuds/SlothsTheSinICaterTo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prophecies are not meant to be told. But to some, even the inescapable fate is not acceptable. And the God of Lies was a smith of his own destiny...</p>
<p>Loki and Sigyn centric.<br/>Based on Norse mythology/Marvel universe/Thor-Avengers movies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Attraction. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> This piece of fiction contains: violence, strong language and sexual themes.   
> You've been warned, read at your own discretion.
> 
> Prophecies had begun in 2013

 

**Prophecies**

_She was gifted with the biggest gift of them all – unending knowledge. The gift of foresight – given by the all-seeing Norns themselves. She forfeited it without even dipping her mind into the unseen. Alas, in the fraction of time it was hers – she witnessed the future. It was the nightmare of darkness, nothing equal in fright to compare. It was more heartbreaking then it should have been but she willed not to know the cause. The unending abyss came to the name of Ragnarök. The only detail she ever shared – the horror unbound, shapeless and soundless. Her silence was deafening, born from the refusal of knowledge, believed by others to be her respect to the yet to come._

 

* * *

 

**Chapter one**

**_Attraction._ ** **Part I**

 

The Heirs to the Golden Throne of Asgard walked through the grand winding corridors of Gladsheim. The young sibling Princes made their way to one of the lesser halls, answering to the call of the Allfather. Their pace was languid but with a brooding air surrounding them. Even the booming Thunder God Thor was encased in the same reluctance. A long wait was in place for them.

Their father was discussing important matters with his old 'friend' – the Nobleman Njord. There were talks, which the younger brother had heard, that the Vanir had been the King of the now-forgotten realm of Vanaheim. It was well known that the strange planet would pick a ruler itself and that wasn't referring to the people. In Loki's understanding of the situation, Njord was not a good 'friend' of Odin, he was merely a remnant of the long-lasted Aesir-Vanir wars. And there was no other way than to accept his father's 'gracious' offer and peace-making – the younger son believed so because he was used to looking at the bigger picture. Even if he were to ever voice his opinions aloud on the two rulers' ties – he would not be agreed with, only because the people were too narrow-minded for their own good. It was not the young man's say in any case and he was cunning enough to stay on the good-side of the majority (Odin of course included). Well, most of the time...

The Golden Palace of Realm Eternal was almost void of guards. In the Lie God’s mind it was foolish, to believe in one's grandeur so much, be blinded by arrogance – to overrate oneself to such a degree. Although, of course, the fortress was impenetrable, living up to its name for eons. The guards were weak by his measure – the God of Mischief could easily trick or pass them undetected. Still, were he King, he would not allow any weak points in security.

When the entrance came into their line of view, far in the distance both noticed a group of women standing beside it. Straight ahead the younger also caught sight of someone sitting on the lounge in front of a widow. The Princes walked closer towards the hall but the girls were none the wiser to their presence. Loki turned a corner just beside the talking females. For once his brother followed him without a word of inquiry or objection. The God of Lies could sense the urge of snorting emanating from his elder, although he was too dignified for that. Thor knew it was best to take this route, neither had wanted to attract attention and become the object of glances and talk, or even worst – to be flocked by the women.

To any unknowledgeable guest the sideway corridor would not have seemed as anything out of the ordinary, something that had already been there from the beginning. However the heart of Asgard – this castle had many a secret. It would bend and warp to the will of the ones who knew of its nature. You could stand just a corner from someone and you would hear them – but they would not hear you. You could stand in front of someone and you would see them – but they would not see you. A mirage or a mirror ability this dome possessed was such. The God of Magic would often indulge in this feature even if with his magical stealth he could have easily slipped past almost anyone undetected, it would just be a waste of energy though.

Another winding turn and the males were heads protruding behind a wall, which faced directly the large doors, behind which their father was with his guest. Both sons stood in perfect view of the occupants beside the entrance, but no one took notice of them. There was no need for hushed tones since their voices would be unheard anyway.

The green-garbed Prince looked over the conversing circle and the God of Thunder did so as well, both were led by pure boredom. The younger had to agree with the unstated sentiment, there was no use dragging both here when obviously the Odinfather was nowhere near to have ended his politics. The Heirs had to take it though because it was something their father did more often than not.

The group was of Aesir and Vanir women, the latter obviously being Njord's granddaughters. The boundary between the two races was almost untellable. It seemed as if the Vanir females were so undeniably Asgardian that they even looked the part. The sorcerer studied with disinterest the annoying, giggling women. He heard bits of much inappropriate talk for Ladies to indulge (more so in public), mentions of his brother and himself. Curtly put – it was nothing but gossip and slander, a fact he did not find surprising – he was used to such brainless span of interest.

The difference between the Vanir and the people of this realm was that the aforementioned were more exotic. Their eyes especially, they had this ethereal shimmer. They were often rumored to be able to hypnotize with only that gaze. As the God of Magic the young man could say with certainty that that was not so, at best it was merely a half-truth. They had no such ability connected with their sight, it could only be a different power of hypnosis, which had nothing to do with their eyes. Although this blatant mistruth could have been born simply from the fact that many had found that feature of the Vanir incredibly alluring.

They were truly difficult to tell apart. Not only were their heights similar but also their figures. One of the telltale signs were the stumpy waists. The sung-about hourglass figures of the Aesir females were simply the achievement of the old tradition of wearing corsets, which in the millennia past had even become a blood-trait. Such a tradition had never existed in Vanaheim; their culture and garb was completely different. Still, he reasoned, due to the wars being settled ages before his own birth, Njord had taken residence in Noatun (a place like Valhalla, part of Asgard, yet in a sense – a completely different realm). Therefore these 'creatures' were something that couldn't really be considered the children of Vanaheim, they had probably not even seen their ancestral world. The other difference was the lack of accessories and jewelry on the foreign-land females.

The granddaughters of the Vanir Lord had all the same distinctive wheat colored hair. And if memory served right (and it always did) it was a trait inherited from their mother – the Love Goddess Freya. The mischievous Prince had once seen her in court when he was a just a little boy. The Asgardian girls present in the mixed circle, left of the heirs, had a variety of colored locks – from golds to reds. The hair of the females was all uplifted in braids or chignons – all so very much according to etiquette.

Their garbs were of varying shades of pastel pink. Loki shivered – oh Norns, how he hated that color. All were dressed in similar long, loose and flowing dresses. Strapless and cut in a straight line above any hint of their décolletés. However the virginal robes did not hide their physiques, even more so they did not compensate the fact that those young women were anything but innocent in any sense of the word. Their figures – the dream of any warrior of Asgard. The huge busts, the angelic faces and of course big hips – for bringing not one child into the world. The God of Trickery failed to see the appeal of any of these features. Big breasts did not attract him. Their pretty faces were all too generic – honestly, he would accidentally bed another just by failing to see any difference. The flaring hips – heirs were not to be found anywhere on his goal list. Having a hoard of children just because he was expected to – was not reason enough. And the worst part – the absolute lack of intelligence would be disastrous, a minute of conversation with such women left him with the biggest headache ever.

Inwardly he called this type of females fuck toys. In the boy-prince’s understanding this was the only reason why these idiots looked appealing to men.

The God of Deceit knew that he was picky, exceedingly so. Not once had a woman caught his fancy, even if just for the looks department. And since he was of the Odin household, where propriety was absolute, his father did not indulge his Heirs into any perversities. Although many a place in Asgard it was a family tradition to take boys of age into those _houses_ (in all actuality whorehouses – because the God of Lies did not attach pretty labels, he referred to things by their true names, even if only in his mind) – the Princes were not subjected to such customs.

Having not been introduced to such 'indulgences' in his very early days, had not made him addicted to the pleasures of flesh. Later on he hadn’t acquired the urge to satisfy such needs either. More so, he completely rejected the idea of any regular 'detours' or consorts – because that had a probability of hindering his priorities. Therefore having no interest in nightly endeavors he had not searched for a woman (not like there would be any 'searching' required, there were plenty that wanted to throw themselves all over him, although in their minds he was just the second-best option). His elder did not seem to be too interested in them either, although the younger was not certain – since he did not concern himself with Thor's business.

The magician was a loner by spirit, so solitude never gnawed at him with demands of finding a companion in a more innocent sense either. Of course there was plenty of slander concerning his person but he did not have to deal with any scorned women, because in truth – there were none. He did not encourage nor did he attempt to cease the gossip. If anything the negative talk surrounding his eerie persona drove people away and it left him to his own devices. Well, most of the time...

The apathetic man's gaze was drawn to a small child that made her way from the dumbly chuckling circle of women. The little girl had seemingly appeared from nowhere as he had not noticed her before. A miniature babe that he estimated had not spent in this existence very long, sometime after the learning of most basic things but still very young. The child skipped merrily and the Master of Magic even arched his eyebrow. How very peculiar. It was an imitation of a skip and being the Lie God he could easily notice the theatrics of others. Although the performance of the girl's stride was remarkably believable. How oddly curious.

The child had short, strait cut hair – such a strict cut was very strange for a girl her age. The same color of wheat told him that she was definitely an offspring of Freya. She sat down onto the red, plush lounge and the other creature occupying it stole Loki's gaze completely – it was a breathtaking female.

The young woman made a mocking and comic face at the little girl and she barely contained her mirth. The grimace was meant for the secluded group just a few steps in front of them, but said circle paid no mind to the sitting magnificent woman. He did not know why she was so blatantly ignored by the others.

She sat beside an out-of-proportion plant that represented the spirit of the palace well. It was monstrously grown – as if everything just had to be grand and so out of measure.

The stormy eyes of the female denied the Trick God of breath. She was most definitely a true Vanir. The shine in those orbs was unmistakable. The tint was that of sea, he wondered in his psyche and he even fully believed that it would change its color depending on her mood. Right now they were of the dark, stormy sea blue. It was clear that the girl did not inherit the sky-blues of her mother. His rational mind berated him, his attention was stuck there for too long, this was not like him. But that thought was ignored and locked away somewhere in the buried labyrinths of his mind, never to see the light of day again.

Her hair was as otherworldly as her very being. The hue of hazel but with strands of gold, where the sun from the huge window caressed it. It was as if depending on light the color would choose itself. Face sharp and framed with unruly cut straight-ish bangs – as if they refused to be chopped in an absolute line. Loose strands were on each side of her divine physiognomy. The rest of her lush hair was scooped in a ponytail, which was long and puffy. The clasp that held it together tightly was gold-tinted but definitely not of the metal – having spent a lifetime surrounded by it, he could without error tell it apart from another. Still the ornate piece did not look cheap in any way, he reckoned it was made from a metal he was not familiar with.

Those mesmerizing eyes, daringly lined with a thick black line and adorned with onyx-painted lashes, made his usually quite cold body temperature rise fervently. He did not register the change. However he did notice her peach-dyed lips as they broke into a broad grin at the little sister that joined her. The woman's pose was anything but not Lady-etiquette appropriate. It was boyish and very confident, lacking a care in the world, obvious as she leaned on her hand and her legs were crossed one atop the other. Her vivid dress's cut allowed him view of a bare leg. The color of the gown was fluctuating, it was blindingly orange with shifting tints of green. Much like those on a leaf, still attached to a tree, dying and decaying but still retaining the barest hints of its former greenery. He loved such a masterly crafted metaphor.

The shape of the dress was brave, he had to admit. The thick straps met behind her neck, his gaze followed them downwards. The cut was oh-so deliciously low, giving plenty of view of small, pert breasts. Her silhouette was embraced by the fabric but it flowed weightlessly down her hips. Such garb was not considered inappropriate in Asgard, only that any suitor searching females always chose to accentuate their virginal-innocence (despite the fact whether they had any of that or not).

The young woman's lithe feet were in gold-not-really-gold strapped heals. Again, quite different form the norm. The Prince judged from her seated person that she possibly had a relatively short stature. But that slender physique made her appear quite tall. There was something in that skin of hers that made Loki clench his fingers on the wall, painfully digging his nails into it. The girl was pale, although not as translucently pale as he was. And such flesh just as his own – was envied by the sun-kissed Aesir Noblewomen. They would spend hours dolling their faces with powder, but they would never manage to hide their sun-loved skin.

The loud conversation the two sisters led (and he didn't contemplate his knowledge of this fact, the stunning female could not have been anything else but Njord's granddaughter, despite her lack of resemblance to the rest of her sibling blood-kin) had stunned him. He was a man that prided himself in rarely to ever be caught unaware and when such a thing occurred – he would be heavily displeased. This time though he didn't have the amount of time needed to locate the reaction behind this surprise. The God of Lies had a wider palette of emotions than believed by majority, but smaller than that of the usual Asgardian.

While the content of the vocally shared thoughts was unexpected, there were some much more bizarre facts. The two sitting Vanir on the lounge conversed in loud volume, however the group was none the wiser to it. The elder sister had bent the palace to her whim and it obeyed by hiding the truth with a shawl of unimportance. The others knew that both girls were there, just beside them, but they were hidden into a sight and sound of something that would be utterly unworthy of paying attention to.

But if what the young Lady and the future-to-be-lady child talked about were to be heard, there would be repercussions for such insolence. Therefore it couldn't have been anything but the solid fact that they both knew of something that only a few did. And when in Loki's great moments of vanity – he attributed this knowledge only to himself. The God of Mischief was sure that his elder wasn't even aware of it. It was common belief that the Allfather was all-knowing, but in reality – it wasn't so. While the Golden fortress was like an extension of the Odinfather (not built for such a purpose nor created by Odin himself) it was not exactly an extension of the High God. Mysterious were the ways of this dome. There was that important detail that the woman seemed confidently aware of. The all-knowing Allfather (even if all-aware only in the territory of the palace) was truly all-seeing but not all-hearing. The Trickster child weighed that his predecessor probably did not have the ability to track the conversations going on here. Even if he did, what mere chances there were that he did possess such a power, then he probably did not use it because it would be such a bother. And if the King really did listen in from time to time – then he would have definitely caught his youngest son plotting. The mischievous prankster admitted to himself, with a great air of remorse, that he quite often let out a fraction of a scheme slip out aloud when mulling over the plots in his mind. If father were to know any of his less than innocent ideas forming, he would without a doubt crush their further fruition into reality and serve a befitting punishment. That was a petrifying thought, therefore the young Heir did not delve into it any deeper.

The blond little girl spoke and held herself with such refined aura, which was well beyond her years. The green-clad Princeling however did not ponder on this oddity much, as there was something far too distracting in his view.

"Did you hear what sister said about you?" the child inquired of the elder, her tone was within the boundaries of respectful volume.

The eye-candy of a woman rolled her eyes exasperatedly, which was a very boyish notion. She waved her hand dismissively at her baby-sister and replied loudly.

"As if it's something new. I know the brain-lacking repertoire of her and her dumb friends by word. Lofn can choke on a cock for all I care"

The voice of the mystery of a creature was bewitching to Loki. While the sentences uttered were meant to sting, all he focused into was the texture of the sound. It was finer than silk and rung better than crystal, somewhere between a low and a high octave. The undeniable finality that not only the words but the voice held was mesmerizing somehow.

The tiny conversant barely contained her laughter behind her small hand. Although she composed herself quickly and continued with all seriousness of a scolding adult. This topic seemed not only wholly inappropriate to be shared with a child but from the garnered reactions – it was clear that she understood the implications and accusations in it.

"Sigyn, that’s evil"

The God of Deceit greedily sealed the woman's name into memory. Not knowing yet that every minor detail connected to her would be always, without fail, engraved into his psyche.

"Is it?" the older wondered aloud and a wicked grin overpowered her face as she looked at the child. She absentmindedly played with her modest (compared to her clothing) gold-not-really-gold earring.

"But it would be hilarious, no? 'Lord Njord's granddaughter died on her knees in front of some Asgardian soldier-nobody while giving head' – the scandal would be incomparable to any before! I wouldn't miss it for the world! Or I'd be somewhere on the other end of the Universe laughing my arse off!" the mirth in the Lady's tone was prominent (and that title stuck to her image in the youngest Heir’s mind, he didn't dare question his certainty).

Again the child barely held back her laughter, however she soon countered wisely.

"Sister, for someone who loathes mingling with society and being connected with scandals in any way as much as you do, why would you wish such gossip-bait of a crisis to befall our family name?" the little girl looked away and continued with her hand still covering her mouth from the earlier attempt at taming her mirth "We are both going to the Unnamed Realms for laughing at this"

Sigyn (her name had started plaguing his conscious and subconscious from the moment he’d heard it, he was irritated greatly by its peculiar pestering) gestured with her hand, pearlescent nail-varnish twinkling.

"And that's a bad thing? Meh, I'd be far away from any commotion as per usual. And it's not like it would be something new, mother is always the talk of the court. It is an everyday occurrence that our blood-line represents the ‘in’ in ‘infamous’" she offered disinterestedly.

The younger sister did not answer to the mention of the Unnamed Realms. Her witty replies tumbled down in their mood, hinting at sadness.

"Truly. I miss our mother... Let us cease this unrealistic conversation, I feel bad about it, even if _you_ were the one joking about it"

"Indeed, it's not like it's going to happen anyway. Lofn would never choke on one, she's far too skilled at it"

"Sigyn!" there was a playful hint in the child's warning. The little girl sighed. "The only thing that unsettles me is the lack of meaning in such an existence. What kind of purpose can they have in their immortal life? I... I-I often wonder myself if I have a reason to exist, if I will actually manage to find and serve a valid, important purpose..." she studied the marble flooring and dangled her feet off the edge of the crimson lounge.

A concerned expression crossed the older sister's face. The young Lady turned her now narrowed gaze to the oblivious group of babbling women in front.

"I couldn't agree more. I mean look at them!" she gestured rudely with her hand at the females "I can't hear anything of even moderate value! Purpose or not, these cock-sucking blockheads are a complete waste of air" pointing at a certain girl (obviously also one of her kin), which was no older than there very beginning of adolescence, she continued "Even Nanna, I mean for the love of the Nine Realms, is it really necessary to imprint all that blatant shite on a child as the 'way of life'? What kind of goddesses shall they become, what will their purpose be, what will they guard and represent? People can talk all they want but mother – the Goddess of Love – is not like this. And knowing that there isn't anything solid on her affairs – means that whatever happens, in detail, is always kept behind locked doors"

The tirade ended abruptly and Sigyn turned to her tiny sibling. She cupped the girl's face in her hands and smiled tenderly.

"Let’s continue speaking about 'purpose' and 'existence' in the gardens, shall we, my dearest baby-sister Syn?"

The child grinned and nodded. The young woman rose gracefully from her seat and the movement was in argument with her seemingly very unlady-like behavior. She took the hand of her sister as the blond hopped off the seat. They walked about the piece of furniture towards the huge windows. Loki received the affirmation of the Lady's abilities as the used-to-be-window had now a grand glass door incorporated in it.

The Prince wanted to follow the retreating females but was stopped by the lecture of his mind, it scolded him for this newfound silly fixation. If it would’ve been just the appearance that would have attracted him so, then he would have shaken it off with an explanation that the instinctual nature had finally caught up with him. This ‘need’ would be obliterated in denial and buried underneath the solid truth that he was above such trifle obsessions. His ever alert psyche also reminded him that his brother was still present, and he would never show his true interest (which he inwardly called 'weakness' – for he had none of such) to anyone.

The God of Lies glanced at his elder, which was forever drown in his depressive boredom. Their eyes met, emerald against azure. The Storm God's expression suddenly became some sort of variation of startled. The apathetic boy-prince didn't even succeed in raising an eyebrow in question as Thor grasped the lapels of his coat and asked hurriedly.

"What time is it?"

Loki wallowed in rage. The words 'do I look like a pocket-watch' almost slipped from his silver tongue. But there was the fact that right now his 'Golden' brother was a nuisance, and if replying would be the way to get rid of him – it was worth the pleasantry. Well, as much as he could muster of that anyway, which wasn't much at all... He remained indifferent as he answered.

"Quarter past three, actually" the 'Dark' Prince said as he forcefully brushed off the hands away from his form. His tone did not hide his ‘ruffled’ state but his brother cared not to hear it. Therefore it was left undetected.

Thor slapped his big hand clumsily onto his forehead.

"Damn it! I had promised our friends to meet them" he continued hurriedly "I am sure father shall not notice us gone for a brief time, surely he has still a lot to discuss with his guest" his red-cape swooshed as he turned to briskly walk away. Fourth or fifth midstep in distance he noticed the lack of his younger brother's presence and he looked back.

"Won't you be joining us, brother?"

Really now, what point would it be to tag along and see the brain-dead Warrior Three and the obnoxious Lady Sif as well? Listening to the repetitive stories by the hundredth and conversing about nothing of value – that was not in Loki's list of priorities. Fighting battles of wits and winning against them while they were not even aware of it, obviously eons away from his level of intelligence, was a waste of effort and he was not desperate enough for company to indulge. Furthermore, he could not stand being taken in for the part of the jester. The shadowy outcast of their little exclusive circle – how _quaint_ , he wished not to endure such belittling.

"Yes, I will not be going. I have important matters to attend to, which I have neglected due to father's urgent call. Seeing as it is not as important as we believed, I shall be taking my leave. And if we will not return in time, well we will both share the trouble then"

"Indeed" Thor grinned, the big oaf, completely unaware of his brother's partial-lie and reluctance to follow. The older Prince shrugged. "Suit yourself, brother" and so he left without turning back.

Loki stood in his place, until his ignorant sibling had strolled far enough for his essence to dissipate from the corridor. _'Share the trouble'_ the heir snorted, like that would ever happen. Were they both guilty or not, their punishment was rarely served equally. It was as if the elder always had credit on his account, the good deeds done at some point that would soften whatever response to his questionable actions. The God of Mischief himself though was forever at the wrong, eternally indebted in that sense. Any worthy act was often viewed upon as lesser than it truly was. And with time, he began to doubt that it was the cause of his elaborate pranks. The miniscule number of being found out only solidified that feeling. The known wrongs could not have overshadowed him so much.

* * *

**A/N**

The prologue (text in italics) is about Frigga. Odin's wife is said to have the gift of prophecy but she does not disclose anything about the future. In this story she does not have the ability because she was frightened by the knowledge and therefore it was forfeited. 

Norns in the Norse mythology are goddesses that decide the course of one's destiny. They are the equivalent of the Moirae (Fates) in the Greek mythology.

About ages – since the story is about gods that have lived for centuries – the number of years lived would tell nothing. So in our human years the characters would be considered of these ages: Thor and Loki 19-20ish, Sigyn about 16-17ish, Syn aged 6, Nanna (Sigyn's sister, the young adolescent) 12-13, Lofn (also a sister of Sigyn) similar in age/slightly older than Loki and Thor.

In the actual Norse myths these goddesses are not related. Parts of the family tree are taken from the Marvel-universe.

Sigyn is often portrayed in fanfiction as the Persephone-esque type of character: weak, naïve, representing everything that is good and so on. I didn't find this fitting for her (in this particular story), that's why here her character won't be the goody-goody two-shoes type.

 

Feedback is very appreciated and responded to!


	2. Attraction. Part II

**Chapter two**

**_Attraction._ ** **Part II**

 

 

The Master of Magic travelled to one of the secluded gardens of the great Asgardian palace, through paths only known to him. He made his way swiftly, not wanting to miss a moment. Daring not to inspect his own unexplainable whims to witness Sigyn – the bewitching Goddess. He wanted to know more of the stunning woman's intellect that somehow he felt would be worthy of the fury for missing a meeting with Odin. Her mind was like a puzzle-box and Loki never refused an intriguing mystery.

The outside was adorned with the most vibrant and exotic of plant-life, encasing the greenery with its taunting colors. No one would notice him from the side, so he did little to hide his presence as he stood behind a hedge. As expected the only two occupants did not notice him. The elder sister skipped merrily like a child, while the younger walked with a measured step – as if in complete reverse to her visual nature.

The sly God took notice that the bright gown Sigyn wore was much softer in its tint when being shined upon by the sun. The orange turned into the lightest shades of peach and flowed slowly with each of her movements. The little girl's – Syn's puffy, short dress was the same, but shone more purely in its sea-foam color.

The enchanting Lady asked her child sister.

"What would be the most valuable of existences? But, Syn, one befitting you as well"

"Knowledge" Njord's miniature granddaughter answered without a second's delay.

"Would you sacrifice an eye for wisdom, unrivaled by any other?"

"It is not a question of loss that is the matter here. In that sense, I think I would spare only very few things to attain that which I desire. Alas it is not wisdom that I seek, it is knowledge"

"Is that not one and the same?" the petite female asked with a smile as she looked down to her tiny sibling.

"No, in my belief it is not. Wisdom is meant for ruling, creating and dividing. To understand ones' men, to be fair and just – that is not what I wish for. I choose to separate knowledge because I yearn to learn different things. I wish to know how and why the realms turn, I wish to understand the unfathomable of the Universe" the strangely mature child traced a blossom of a vividly violet flower "To me it is just as important to know the mind of a flower as it is equally important to grasp the ways of the Universe in the grand view – though from where I stand"

Their walking stopped as the older uttered.

"You seem so cast-off, little Syn. Why are you so... so melodramatic about it? Don't you believe that you can attain such a goal? To me, your lovely delusional sister, it seems that you are well on your way to it" her expression softened at the child, which attention was stolen by a violet bud. The jest was most likely meant to lull the little girl into lighter spirits, although somehow it seemed to have been said with seriousness lingering underneath.

She glanced back at her chiding sister, the child's large eyes were full of something he identified as a version of hope.

"Sometimes I believe that I can touch what I yearn for, as if it is truly tangible and the Norns are gracious to me. Alas when such inviting thoughts abandon me, I feel like I try to reach somewhere high but am in truth only grasping about blindly in the dark. I fear that my existence will prove to be wasted and in the end – with all my good intentions, I will have a purpose more meaningless than that of a grain of sand in a vast desert... However I am nothing but a mere child foolishly dreaming, what can I understand about the fated...?"

Sigyn shook her head, still wearing the warm expression.

"You are just a child – but that is exactly why you are bound to succeed. No bratty kid could ever understand as much as you do, you are already knowledgeable beyond your years. To such an extent that it is unbelievable even. And time won't take that away, be brave and unyielding and you shall only move forward and gain more. Trust me, I know"

The Master of Sorcery had to agree. The babe was truly fascinating, not even once had he heard such from beings of her age. And a great number (pitiful, really) of matured creatures did not possess a scratch of a mind such as hers.

Syn beamed at the encouragement, her soul's resolve strengthened.

"Let me guess your purpose of existence"

"Do indulge me" the elder said while playfully putting her hands on her hips and twirling her body slightly.

"Hmm, I guess to someone who would know you from the side (really know you) they would say that it is travelling, discovering and learning – in a way also a yearning for knowledge. But that would not be quite true, just the surface of it, truly. It would not be correct that you represent 'life' either, while you are fascinated with creation and thriving – that is really too generic for you, Sigyn sister. Your purpose is closer to 'life' _and_ 'death', you are someone that is not one but both. A contradiction in its own right. And knowing just where you fancy going to, 'death' is really not far from it" the little girl contemplated aloud, her tone solemn and serious.

"You are observant, Syn" the Lady laughed "However that's such a depth that I rarely, if ever, fathom it as such"

"Ah, but it is still correct, is it not?" Syn questioned with a lovely childish smile.

"I do believe so" she backed away from her sister a couple of steps and with a vicious grin she spun on her heel "Oh, Syn, if you only knew how wondrous the worlds are!" Sigyn continued swirling on her feet, her dress flew about her, feather-light it seemed.

"I am curious about them but I do not think your purpose would ever befit me. I would be able to walk the realms like you then – a true child of the Universe. Alas I cannot and I do not think I wish to"

"Pity, but then again my vanity could not uphold itself if there were many as myself" the older Vanir grasped the corners of her dress and spread the pale fabric like wings. Her movements were in a mock-dance fashion and not – the stalking Prince couldn't really describe them. And he never ran out of words, however it didn't bother him now.

"If any..." the younger finished. "How much of the Universe have you travelled?"

"Universe... Multiverse... – not much. In the narrow minded views of our fellow people – a great deal then"

"Multiverse... Is there really such a thing?"

"Well, I'm not one to announce my views as the truth. Ah, correction it's not like I ever talk about this with anyone" the young woman released a bitter laugh "But it is something of a ghost-knowledge, there are many talks about it, you know – especially _there_. It's told as a fact, even if they can't say anything solid – or well maybe I just wouldn't quite understand, even if they were to attempt. They even say that the Norns witness different variations of the three grand timelines"

"As if just one reality was not complicated enough" the Lady-child pouted.

"Oh, but isn't that fascinating in itself? There's so much to see and there's so much that we still do not understand!"

"You love puzzles, don't you, sister?" she sighed.

"Actually, I don't have enough patience for them" Sigyn said with seriousness that wasn't quite in harmony with her character of before.

"But you have enough for the mysteries of the Universe" the child said smugly.

"Yes." it was a strong reply that allowed no further discussion. "But that's just insane little me!" the girl accentuated with a predatory grin.

"Must you be so... eccentric all the time?" the tiny creature asked not impressed.

The two females neared the edge of the gardens. The envy-green garbed Prince had to stand behind a thin fig tree and there was a lot more effort needed to conceal himself. The small plant did almost nothing to hide his lanky frame.

The air surrounding the duo became thick with tension and he almost had to hold his breath as he watched them.

"Yes, yes I must" the elder uttered darkly, becoming a different being in every sense "Oh, dearest, don't you know that I have too? This façade drives away any unwanted attention. And for most of the part – I am ignored and left to my devices. Everyone holds me to be below their 'serious' and 'important' matters, but if you ask me – those are nothing but trifle. It is also much to my gain that I do not look like mama because I am also much more undesirable since I look this way"

"I never saw it as such, your ‘sparkly’ demeanor... It took much thought into the making..." the younger offered. "'Mama' you refer to mother so... casually"

"Really now? The woman is my mother, she carried me in her womb for so long and that allows me to refer to her with such intimacy as if we'd have a strong bond. And if not, well then, I don't owe her enough respect to be bound to mention her with it"

The tiny child changed the subject.

"Is it really worth making everyone and our own family believe you to be so insane?"

"Is it worth it?" Sigyn laughed bittersweetly "Why of course it is! Is it such a high price to pay for being allowed to live my dream? (Not that it’s all that much of a farce really)” she muttered quietly.

The girl took her baby-sister by hand and started strolling again. The mischievous male had to continue moving if he wanted to not lose sight of them. It was all the more difficult since there weren't even the smallest objects to blend in with. He had to concentrate into his stealth abilities to stalk unseen and unheard. Where there any reflective surfaces – he wouldn't have to, then standing in place would be enough to track the Vanir.

The two that held his interest now stood beside the ocean. Loki was mystified at how they had reached such a secluded place so quickly. There were no roads that led to it so effectively and swiftly. He cursed himself mentally for being so puppeteered that he didn't even notice exactly how he got to the seaside. The distance between the beach and the palace was great and no paths direct enough. He blamed himself for being so moronic and not studying his interest-beholders (beholder – if he was honest with himself) with more attention to the surroundings.

The shore of the dark blue sea was empty, void of any living bothers. The lady released her hold on her sibling. With her shoes in hand she continued the seemingly ended conversation.

"My dearest, I want the world! I want the Universe to be my playground. I'll stop for nothing to have it in my grasp, however insignificant I am – I still yearn for it!"

"A Queen then" the child whispered silently but the hidden man's honed hearing picked it up.

"What?" the water-splashing woman stopped in her tracks, she laughed and a moment later her hands ceased saving her dress from the worriedly waving sea "Oh yes, do stroke my ego! Queen of the Boundaries – I do like that!"

"Men have egos" Syn remarked with distaste.

"Am I less worthy than a man? Or is my purpose too weak?" Sigyn inquired but her cheery tone was not really asking.

"N-no, that's not what I meant" the child tried to explain, only to be interrupted by her sister’s untamable laughter.

"I know, my darling" she escaped from the waves and closed in on the miniature version of Freya. The girl tried to avoid her recklessly walking sister as to not get a dose of the splashing salty waters on her small form.

Syn's face was grasped by dainty hands and smiled down upon by the strange-minded Goddess.

"You are my most precious person in existence, Syn darling. Only to you I willingly bestow the knowing of my secrets, you are the keeper of this forbidden knowledge. And I know, I know you will be more knowledgeable than even the Allfather. Trust your mad sister, for she knows best" the girl placed her hands onto her elder's in a sign of affection.

Soon the Lady-Goddess released the blond doll-child. She spun around with her hands clasped behind her back and she resumed her walking.

"Oh, sweetheart, if only you knew what joy travelling the realms brings me! I'd wither away here in Asgard, it is so colossally boring! The golden grandeur is so... Well, it's not for me"

The younger Heir had to disagree with that sentiment. Sure, Realm Eternal was quite over-the-top, but it was fit for a King. That was probably his Asgardian upbringing speaking though. Loki loathed being biased.

"Tell me, tell me again that which you have mentioned and tell me more of that which you have left untold" the small female pleaded.

"Centuries would not be enough to tell you everything of what I have seen. I could go on for hours and hours about the worlds..." Sigyn answered absentmindedly as she gazed at the clear blue skies.

"Please do share with me, even if just a little. You know I take interest in your tales"

The girl-woman nodded.

"Did you know that there are worlds beyond the World Tree Yggdrasill?"

"Is that really possible?"

A sigh escaped the again water-treading Lady.

"Our view of the world is too narrow, there is much more beyond that which we Gods comprehend, and it's not the Multiverse over it. Although I've never ventured beyond the World Tree, to be honest. I wish I could – but I can only enter the Nine of Yggdrasill, with exceeding difficulty to some I must note. I don't think that even the Rainbow Bridge can allow passage to the worlds over – it is not powerful enough. Heimdall is aware of the others but I don't think that his gaze quite extends to them"

The Lie God mentally agreed. But he knew not of how or from where this girl could possibly have garnered this knowledge. He was aware of it from his own much-broader-than-usual understanding and forbidden books extended the knowing. It was also a mystery exactly how the Lady 'walked' from one realm to another. He prided himself for knowing and having the ability to use other paths – dark portals and such, to reach other worlds. The Princeling couldn't accept and comprehend the fact of her ways though. For he was the acclaimed magician, said to be the best of Yggdrasill. Only if Norns could have been faulty (and they never, ever, were) would Sigyn be stronger than him in enchanting.

"About which realm would you like to hear, sister?"

"Any, Sigyn. Pick by your own choosing. I am sure grandfather will not be finished soon, so tell me, please"

"Then Vanaheim" the elder's face turned dreamy "You know grandfather Njord's stories have never been vivid enough to describe the realm for what it truly is. And by Norns what a stunning one it is! For me – neither Noatun nor Asgard is really home. Vanaheim, when you stand there the sensation is different. I can feel the way it breathes, the beat of the world courses through you. The beat from the core like no other – it is truly alive" She extended her hand to the heavens "Oh and the sky, oh the sky, Syn... Whenever I hold my hands to this crystal clear sky of blue I feel that it's so distant – I cannot reach it. Much like the Throne room of Asgard – so untouchable, the unattainable Deus. But when I reach for the Vanaheim sky – I can touch it. The clouded and dreary heavens – always in thought – but they seem to understand and are never wary of my reach. The blankets of rain clouds forever shroud the heavens in blue-gray but the three suns never shy away. Even after the biggest downpours coming down on a sunny midday – the rainbow gates never grace the sky. The sunsets of Vanaheim are nothing like the ones on Asgard. As the three set down beyond the horizon everything dyes itself in red, like fresh blood from an artery – such a morbidly fascinating lightshow. As the quintet of moons rules the night sky – they are always alone, stars are hidden away by the fluffy, waving clouds" the woman swirled on her feet in the today-dark sea.

"But the forests, the forests... Everything thrives and lives. The woods are dark and the trees are menacing, compared to the Asgardian plant-life. The flowers are not as brightly colored as here, there they look as if they belong, and not as if they are fighting a battle on who is more noticeable. The air is damp, much more than here in Asgard. The leaves and vines that climb the trees – blooming and not, are all thick with water. The ferns are also so beautiful. The barks of the lean giants are covered with lichen. The ground in the woods blanketed in short moss, with colorful mushrooms sprouting here and there. Meadows are all in tall and sun-loved grasses. Every bit of greenery, except for the sturdy trees and grass, is so sensitive. When you touch ones – they vine and climb up your hand – as if with the intention of making you a part of them, others shy away and even disappear without a trace – search as you might but you won't find them. And believe me I've tried. The realm is also full of all kinds of animals, mostly the furry ones allow to be observed, while the others hide. They are a part of Vanaheim, they live by the rhythm. Everything is in perfect harmony – it is as if everything knows about what is happening or maybe even will happen in that world. The creatures can be guides, and a wish is enough to be led to the place which you desire to find... Ah, why did I have to forget the beat of Vanaheim...?" Sigyn finished her tale with a mournful note.

"Perhaps one day you shall hear or rather understand it again" the attentively listening sibling commented.

"Who knows..." the young woman whispered.

"Where else have you been, sister?"

"Hmmm" the Goddess hummed and tapped her glossy lip with a finger "I've been to a realm just below Asgard"

The Lady-child chided with mounting interest. Much bigger than when she listened to the previous story, which the hidden man believed she had heard not once.

"You have visited the Light Elf kingdom? It cannot be! What does it look like?" eager was the babe to hear.

"See your sister is not as hopeless as everyone believes" a mysterious smile reigned over her features. The little girl ignored the remark.

"I haven't been long in Alfheim. Unlike the meekly inhabited Vanaheim, it has many residents"

"Inhabited?" the girl asked with a frown at the new information.

"Why yes, of course. I have not met any Vanir in our true homeland, but me being there had not bothered them, although they were aware of my presence. Alas I was a much more uninvited guest in Alfheim. I had feared that I would be noticed if I were to linger there any longer. The Elven are smart, very much so. I didn't have any delusions that I could have hidden myself well enough to be undetected while indulging for some real exploration. It looks like... Umm, well it is very much different from either Vanaheim or Asgard. The scenery and everything looks like it’s made of crystal or glass, but that's not really accurate. I can't even describe the colors, they're just... different. It's so transparent, translucent and even fluctuating. The whole realm seems as if it is forever changing, moving, when in truth it isn't. To any Vanir or Asgardian the light itself would seem unnatural there, although it is the opposite. I haven't really seen anything of their living areas, so I can't say anything about their buildings and castles. I wish I could..."

"The Fae realms, wow..." the listening tiny female was astounded. "Have you... Have you ever visited our father's kingdom?"

"Svartalfheim? Only when I was little. I don't remember it well. Mother had taken me with her once, just me though. Now that I think about it, her taking just me is so strange and unreal... Iwaldi's palace and the underground – the dungeons and mines, are huge and much less metal-crafty than you'd be led to believe. They're not of dirt and shining ores and gems, they're made out of stone – dark and sturdy"

Iwaldi – now that Loki had heard it, he remembered that Freya the infamous Love Goddess had had children with one of the Dwarf kings. The son of _the_ Ivaldi. Making their father Iwaldi the third or the second, maybe? He wasn't too keen on the Dverger history anyway. The God of Lies made a mental note to brush-up on it.

"And that's not all" Sigyn flashed a maniacal grin at her sister and the smile did not seem to wish to leave her beautiful physiognomy. She stood in the waters ankle-deep. Soon she raised one of her legs, while standing on tip-toes on the other. The raised leg was bent, then she tossed it to the side, extending it into a straight line. She began swirling round while one of her feet anchored, changing from standing on both at times. Her arms were raised to the skies or moved in front of her as she twirled continuously. The dancing was light, graceful but not overly slow.

"Sigyn!" Syn shouted and covered her mouth, having not expected this. Her wave dancing sister did not cease her swaying.

The young man's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. The Prince had instantly recognized the dance. It was danced by Naiads, the water nymphs. In all truth the dance was not difficult (especially for such a lithe creature it seemed), nor overly insinuating. It wasn't even held very arousing or anything of the sort by the realm dwellers it originated from. It didn't rise from some coupling tradition either. But for one reason or the other, in Asgard it was considered a very, very inappropriate dance. Therefore it was never performed by groups of women (or one woman) in court or any public places. And anyway Asgardians weren't very good with dances that did not have a strict structure and required a different type of grace, not as formal and angular. This was a first seeing it, he decided that he liked the impression it left very much – judging from the artistic point of view.

"Niflheim!" the child squeaked.

"Oh, yes. The Abode of Mists" the girl replied as she finished her mini-performance.

Syn shook herself from the stupor.

"But it's the realm of ice. How does that work with the Oceans and Rivers? Even salt crystalizes there!"

"The east and south regions of that world are not frozen solid. The Upperworld is the dome of the Giants, below the flowing waters reside Naiads and other Ocean folk. They are famed for their hospitality. Well and mother was quite well-known down there, so in a way her connections led me to be a guest to their royal family. I learned to dance there. Being underwater in Niflheim is not difficult but I really couldn't stand their food. I was there for some time, felt really welcome too! And as you well know, my little sister, I don't quite trust anyone. So that was really quite a feat!"

The small girl shook her head, her hands on her tiny hips – a lecturing pose.

"You really are something Sigyn, aren't you?"

Twinkling-bell laughter followed from the tale-telling woman. 'Yes' echoed in Loki's head, he had to agree wholeheartedly.

"Well, except _there_ , the other three realms have nothing so fascinating for you to wander into them"

"No" the female said dreamily "I'd like to witness all of Yggdrasill. One world in particular holds my interest"

"Let me guess" Syn said.

The Goddess's attention was drawn to her kin, who she seemed to love and trust more than any other. Her face turned into a sly mask that somehow told the lurker that the guess would be wrong.

"Midgard"

The older sister's expectation was proven right and her mirth made sound in the empty beach yet again.

"No, although I have tried to enter the world of Midgardians before. They have a wide grasp on the universe and its endlessness and at the same time they do not. They disbelieve anything that is beyond their solid understanding, therefore the World Tree is falling into myths, a fairytale to them. They deny anything beyond their grasp, therefore their realm is a closed party. Because it is so, getting there my way would be exceedingly difficult, maybe impossible even. Therefore I have not pried against their silent – to us, world. If they deny our existence, then they are just as nonexistent to me as I am to them"

"Muspellheim then. If you are going to venture there, it will be so hot that you'll need--"

"Jotunheim" the woman interrupted, no jest detectable in her tone.

"What!?" the younger raised her voice in disbelief.

The young man stalking in the shadows was also shocked out of his comprehending capacities. While he may have lacked the (alluringly) strange girl's fascination with the outer realms – the boy-prince could still understand it. But whatever compelled her to turn her glances to Jotunheim was beyond him. An icicle of a shiver ran down his now bent spine. He had no reason to feel such disgust for the Jotunns but he did nonetheless. The cunning Heir could always see the whole picture, so he never justified without reason his father's side. He saw both of the warring sides, instead of just one. He could grasp that such confrontations usually did not have just one utterly guilty side. Yet the mentioned realm did not fall into that category, he despised it for no apparent reason. And something in his subconscious told him that he was better off without knowing why. The sorcerer paid no mind to the voices, he eradicated them from his head and did not overthink it, as he mostly did with everything.

"But... b-b-but what could you possible want to see in Jotunheim!?" the now squeaking range was frantic. With swiftly added calm-glazed seriousness the miniature version of wisdom continued "Surely the Frost Giants would not like a silly girl exploring their world. They are not as bullheaded as many are so inclined to believe. If you were to just pop-up there, you would be basically treading on their threshold. I hope I do not have to tell you how foolish thus would be"

"Indeed you are right. As always, my tiny Syn" Sigyn released a sorrowful breath from the captivity of her lungs. She went on "And that is exactly why I have not set foot there. With the scarce, or more accurately nonexistent, visiting to their realm (unlike in Alfheim) – they would without a doubt notice me instantly"

The small child nodded in agreement, while her sibling took hold of the soaked corner of her flowing gown.

"And this--" the young woman gestured to her now bared thigh, on which an intricate dagger was strapped "--would not stop them"

Loki chocked as he witnessed the nude skin of her leg. And that was ridiculous, he reminded himself, because her energetic movement and of course the dance had not quite hidden those long limbs. The angered God berated himself for this odd lapse in his usual mental processing. His recovery to normalcy was instantaneous. With a huff he focused into the ornate weapon – clearly he had misjudged, the woman was not stupid enough to enter uncharted territories without any sort of protection but some mere spell-casting. The dagger itself was Dverger crafted, the signature gears, swirls and all that – as much as he could tell from the distance. It was most probably a gift from the girl's father – king Iwaldi. The bizarre thing was that it was not made from gold – the most common metal the dwarfs worked with. Crafted from silver – such Dverger weaponry was a rarity in itself, perhaps specially so for his daughter. The shinning silver clashed terribly with the gold-not-really-gold accessories Sigyn wore.

"Still, why does Jotunheim attract you so?" pestering curiosity was not uncommon between the seekers of knowledge, apparently the child was not an exception.

"The snow" was the reply, water-splashing twirling commenced after.

"Snow? That is your answer? Sigyn, but the phenomenon is present in Vanaheim, why care for that horrible and desolate place?"

"True, it is present. The petty snowfall that doesn't really cover the Vanir lands and a rare slight frost in winters of Asgard. In comparison, the snow in Vanaheim is just frolicking in the grasses, while in Jotunheim – snow is making love."

A slight pause took place before Syn managed to say something.

"That is something far too odd to hear from you"

"Is it?"

"Far too poetic, such 'lovely' metaphors are not befitting of your character"

"Perhaps" the elder shrugged "But it is snow and that is how I comprehend it. I want to see it in its purest form – that's why Jotunheim"

The languidly pacing Lady-child said.

"Knowing you, I guess, it should not be so surprising. I mean you love _that_ realm and while I can hear the adoration in your voice, I cannot understand it. I perceive the 'why' and 'how' but that does not mean I truly understand it"

"It is so because you do not agree with the sentiment, that's where the animosity comes from"

"Possibly, but it is not 'animosity' I feel for the realm or your obsession with it. It is simply a semitransparent mystery and the haze I cannot ignore... Anyway, I would like to hear more of your travels. Please. And you know, sometimes it is not the story that interests me most but what your voice does not hide"

A loving smile and a word told without hesitation.

"Alright"

The many grains of time became the past when the Lady began a story.

"I believe I have not told you that when I travel I change. I become more 'me' than when in Noatun or here"

"You have not. And I do not follow" the girl interrupted.

"Then shush. Don't stop me with your corrections"

Syn curtly nodded once, as if mentally not happy with her unwise interruption of the tale.

"I change physically. It is not conscious. The longer I'm away – the more prominent the difference. I often wonder if I were to travel someplace where I've never been, perhaps the change would be different. But for now it's always the same. My hair turns darker – a shade of ashen onyx. My eyes from the murky blue become so very much like the green lakes turned into swamps of Vanaheim"

"How peculiar..."

"I feel it is right to change my very name as I enter into the other worlds. Maybe for the sake of hiding my identity if anything were to go amiss. Well, the last thing I would like is for grandfather to catch wind of my frequent detours... Do... do they ever notice when I'm missing?" she referred to her family.

The doll-child shook her head, mournfully even.

"...No..." reluctance was evident in the answer.

"I see. That's for the best" Sigyn uttered with fake uncaring but Loki registered it. While masterfully performed, it was still a lie and he was the God of Deceit for a reason.

The sea-foam dressed female changed the sad-sounding subject to a different direction.

"What do you call yourself?"

"Angrboda"

"In the ancient tongue meaning the bringer of grief. How sorrowful... and imposing. A name that should belong to a Giantess"

"Well my birth name does not quite represent who I am. 'Victorious' well yes, I _can_ bestow victory to others or will minor things to lead to a series of fortunate or unfortunate events. But that is a grave secret and it cannot be known"

"But why hide such an amazing ability?"

"Dearest, I thought you'd understand. If it were known, do you know where I'd wound up in? I'd be tied to the front of a war ship just to bring luck, I'd be thrown into a cage and dragged into the battlefield only to ensure a victory. Or worst, I would be stolen by a man, who'd want to have endless fortune in his life. I'd be no more than a trinket, even if placed in a damned golden birdcage"

The blond sibling was stunned into silence. The mischievous Prince had not needed the explanation to understand the situation. It was all too true. But even if the females believed to be alone and only a named few could have so stealthily sneaked up on them (as he did) – it was still too dangerous of a discussion. Secrets should not be mentioned out loud even if you are alone. Although the Lie God thought that Sigyn only shared this knowledge with her baby-sister, it was locked away in her mind all the time. He unconsciously agreed with the fact that hiding yourself and keeping truths and burdens on your own was difficult, he felt the heaviness of such without rest throughout his life.

"And 'girlfriend', I mean really? What was mother thinking?" the young Goddess questioned rhetorically in a light mood.

"That is quite opposite of you and I have no idea" Syn answered with silent laughter in her words.

"My point exactly. So... what name would you pick for yourself? One that would represent you and what you would god-over"

The child thought for a minute or two. Those minutes were used to the maximum as the reply was well thought-trough.

"Snotra"

"Uuuuuh, I like that. Wisdom – very befitting. I can even envision it: you guarding the door that would lead into archives of ancient and even forbidden knowledge. You would deny entrance to those that would be unworthy (and let's face it, there'd be many of those). Not bad a choice, little sister, not bad at all"

The tiny girl smiled at the praise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noatun is the place where Vanir god Njord resides.
> 
> Again Sigyn's family tree is Marvel-based.
> 
> Naiads are actually freshwater nymphs, it's a term from Greek mythology. But I chose it over Oceanids because the term reminded me a bit too much of said Mediterranean pagan religion.
> 
> I think it is pretty clear why I chose Sigyn's traveling name to be Angrboda. To those who do not know Angrboda – she was a giantess lover of Loki. With her he had three children: Fenrir, Jormungand and Hel.
> 
> Little Syn said that her chosen name would be Snotra. Snotra is also a sister of Sigyn, so why hadn't I used her instead of Syn? It's simply because I preferred that name for her baby-sister. Snotra means clever/wise – it would befit better the profile of the youngest daughter, however I liked Syn better – and she is associated with refusal.


	3. Separation

**Chapter three**

**_Separation_ **

 

 

The sisters neared the edge of the beach, closing in on the outskirts of the city. They turned to the small sand dunes the wind had built and sat onto the sand, both gazing of into the sea.

The Prince was glad that they had chosen to cease their strolling. It was not the long walk that tired him, his endurance was great and such measly travel was not even close to being exhausting, it was the hiding that was slowly draining him. In such an open place he had to use a significant amount of energy to stay concealed. Were the two in any place that would have a decent amount of reflective surfaces, like mirrors, he could have watched them with ease. There wouldn’t be any need to be in such close proximity either, the young God could have taken shelter in his own chambers while they’d be far away. Alas it wasn’t the case. And a natural reflectiveness such as the massive body of water held – did not fall under the category of things he ruled over. He felt relieved because of their choice to stay put.

Syn rested her head onto Sigyn’s arm, she said in a quite tone.

“Tell me about _there_ , tell me about it again, please.”

Loki had paid attention to the conversation the Vanir led, therefore he did pick up on the fact that the little one was referring to the realm her sister ‘loved’. His eyes widened as he realized which world that would be, for what reason the Lady liked that realm – was not incomprehensible to him. He would understand why, if it where such a realm as Vanaheim – her homeland. This was intriguing beyond anything he could have possibly done right now. Nor the same stories from Volstagg, the rare comments from Hogun, the sugar-coated tales of perversity from Fandral, Sif’s boastings about battles or Thor’s warmonger plans, and definitely not Odinfather’s preaching could rival this. He wanted to know what interested the beautiful Goddess in that desolate place. No, he _needed_ to know.

“The Unnamed Realms” the woman’s voice was dreamy, her gaze shrouded.

The last world, the very roots of Yggdrasill were referred to in plural, while in reality a singular word was in order. The realm was the opposite of the highest-branch – Asgard, or perhaps more specifically a region of it – Valhalla. Realm Eternal against the place of the _dead_.

“The scenery there represents the purpose of it well. It is dead, yet existing in its own, unfathomable to us, way. Everything is barren, scorched, un-living, un-beating, silent... Dead. It’s dark and gray. The circle of life we know is different than from what occurs there. In Asgard nothing truly ‘dies’, it can be trampled – demolished, but there’s no other end here. For example flowers – here they sprout and grow until they bloom, the blossoms never perish unless they are trampled. When a blossom outlives its existence it fades into golden dust that disappears and new ones then burst in its place. In Vanaheim – the cycle does reach its end: a flower sprouts, grows, matures, blooms and then withers away – until the tiniest of life recycles it into particles we cannot see. However, in the Unnamed Realms – nothing ‘lives’. The plants extend already dead, they are scorched and withered from their ‘birth’. If it’s a flower – then it never discards its bloom – for it never ‘lived’, it was ‘dead’ to begin with.”

“Like Death Flowers” the child uttered sounding deep in thought.

“Exactly. Everything there is just marvelous. It is so starkly different from what we are used to, that try as I might I cannot cease to adore it”

“You have a fixation with unique things”

“That I do, that I do... And you know, the various beings that inhabit the world of the dead are referred to as the Nair. The word actually represents the corpses – those who do not wish to part from their rotting flesh, there are also the shades – spirits of those that parted from their physical form, and of course the Guardians of the realm. Unlike what most believe in, it is not filled with deceased sinners. In Valhalla – the Hall of the Slain, reside only the greatest of rulers, the ones fallen in glorious battle and the purest of souls. The Unnamed Realms is the place where everyone else wanders to, except those that remain and watch over or haunt the places connected to their past existence. Perhaps for some it is a place of utter horror, I find it soothing in some way. It’s a haven for those who wish to escape. It is as empty as a desert. I have seen some shades and the walking dead, but mostly neither of them paid any mind to me. While I was something that did not belong in their world, they cared little, if any, for my presence there” a contented sigh escaped the lovely creature at the end.

“Sigyn sister, you have told me so little about it. I wish to hear more, please tell me of the Guardians. What are they like?”

“The absolute opposite of what I’ve heard about Valkyries. The Guardians are pallid and ashen-looking creatures, seemingly transparent. There are males and females. Their eyes are of the most unnerving watery blue. They dress in robes as fluctuating as themselves. Some of those beings have wings: ones reminiscent of a swan’s, others of a raven’s feather and those of a bat”

“Do you know of their origin?”

“Yes and no” the elder replied “The Guardians are the true residents of the realm. They have existed there since the beginning of time as we understand it. Since the very creation of the World Tree – Yggdrasill. When the last – the ninth realm came to be, the guardians appeared with it. They have no ‘beginning’, there was no ‘creation’ for them. They were never ‘alive’, they just ‘were’. So, I can tell you as much but if you ask about their _true_ origin, it would have to be the same as that of the Universe. And I do not know the answer to that question”

“And you came to know them” the little girl moved her resting head from her sister and hugged her legs to herself.

The young woman nodded.

“I was weary of meeting the Guardians (for all I knew I could have been not permitted to leave, after what I’ve seen) but I knew that it was inevitable anyway. I did not search for them and they did not search for me. We were simply aware of each other, for me it was a feeling lingering somewhere on the edge of my consciousness. I don’t know why but for some reason they took a liking to me. I claim so because they are not known for being talkative or forgiving to intruders. They answered my questions in their monotone, apathetic way. They taught me, gave me my most treasured gift and invited me to stay. Not just allowed me, no, they invited me to stay! I was told that I was welcome. It’s scary when you think about it, but there I was completely at ease. As if under a potent spell I was lulled into uncaring for my paranoia driven traits. Perhaps it was because I did not hinder their existence, the place is like a sanctuary for anything. Although punishment for some of those who are deserving is mostly served below the grounds – I have not ventured there. I wanted to – badly though. I would probably be sickened by the sights but curious nonetheless. As you’ve probably managed to gather, sister, the Guardians there are just as unnamed as the realm. I have heard from them that they are waiting for a Ruler. When I asked whether they know who the said ‘Ruler’ is, they told me that ‘it’ is not born yet. Their world is a bit too chaotic, therefore they are in need of one mind to gather it more. Funny, from them I learned something about the Norns. It seems that they despise the fate-weavers. According to the Unnamed Ones the ‘crones’ (they called them so), meddle with their realm. They say that the Norns sometimes share only one future, however they _are_ aware of the many possible paths destiny can take... Perhaps it has something to do with the Multiverse thing...”

The older rose to her feet and walked towards a glinting piece of something buried in the waves of the sand. The hidden man presumed it to be a seashell the Goddess bent down to pick up. Her back was turned to her younger kin as she dug up the shinning shell of an oyster. She stood up and examined it in her hands, her now sandaled feet heel-deep in the sand.  

“Sigyn, you sound so distant… As if you’re going to leave” the child whispered silently but loud enough for both parties present to hear.

The Master of Magic did not think that he could possibly listen more attentively to the conversation shared between the females. But he was proved wrong and he strained his hearing as if missing a word would be of catastrophic measures. The Heir did not know whether the little girl referred to the way the woman told her tales (she didn’t seem distant to him) or if the Lady-child meant it in general.

In the expanse of a split second the elder Vanir’s body tensed. She returned to her usual grace swiftly with a lithe reverence. The knowledgeable youngling did not notice the momentary slip but the God of Deceit did.

The Lady stared down her baby-sister and replied. Her voice was melancholy-laced.

“Oh, Syn, my dearest Syn, you know I cannot stay. Only counted weeks are left and...” Sigyn silenced herself. She twirled on her foot and extended her arms to the high, unforgiving blue heavens. Returning to her usual cheery character she continued “Sister, I want the world! You have said it yourself, I am a child of the Universe, I was meant for it. I want everything, I want to have it all!”

“But--” the tiny creature sounded desperate, her sibling persisted.

“I will not be denied my existence!” she was angry, angrier than ever the young man had heard her, although he hadn’t heard all that much. “I will _not_ be chained to this world and this world alone!” with each uttered word the anger turned teary, the God of Mischief knew the tone of it well.

“Sigyn, please...”

Syn was interrupted again by the elder that barely managed to contain her enraged voice from screeching.

“No, I _cannot_. No matter what you say there is no escape for me here. Noatun was never my home, nor will Asgard be!”

“But grandfather--” the younger attempted again.

“If Njord would have cared about me, he wouldn’t have arranged this marriage! I don’t care if Theoric is a good man, I don’t care if the rumors about the soldier I am sold off to are in his favor! The only thing grandfather interested himself in was to get rid of the oddball in the family, he didn’t even ask me if I wanted this. All he wants is to retain a perfect image on court, who cares if it’s at the cost of someone’s happiness. And mother, wherever she may be, knows nothing of this. Her own daughter’s marriage is to happen soon and she has no clue about it. He did so because he knows that mother would have allowed her babies to do as they please. She does not give a damn about her image or what her family stands for either. I would be left in my own secluded world, of what ‘grandpa’ refers to as ‘fantasies’, and everyone would be content. But _noooooo_ , I am only something he needs to get rid of. I am free, I do not want to give that up. I don’t care if grandfather made sure that I’d be locked up in a _golden_ cage. I will not accept any cage! I will not be tied to, literally because that’s the only way they’d managed to get me into that position... to a bed to be bred like a mare! I will not be on my knees in front of any man! I will not be fucked for someone else’s entertainment! I will faster tear the very guts out of my ‘groom’ than be leveled down to a fuckable housewife!”

Sigyn turned her head to the side, unwilling to see her loved one’s heart break. Her nostrils flared with each inhale and exhale. Her fists were clenched and they shook from the strained grip.

“... _Never_.” was the silent promise she uttered.

The young Godling’s coherence was heavily obscured with the incoming information. He had trouble breathing. His usually cool body temperature rose immensely and then it dropped so dramatically that he lost the feeling of his flesh. He was confused and drowned in blinding rage.

“I do not want you to leave me” Syn said with tears running down her no longer rosy cheeks.

The Lady’s expression softened, she gazed with a loving yet sorrowful expression into the weeping child.

“Oh, baby, I don’t want to...” her tone was void of the hatred she felt for everything (it seemed), except her little sister. The woman continued her final-sounding sentence “But I have to.”

A forceful sob wracked through the silently crying girl as she clutched with her tiny hands the fabric of her dress. Her fingers wound themselves into the material beneath which her little heart was, probably in a vain attempt to cease her fast heartbeat.

“If there would be any other choice, I would take it. I do not want to abandon you... I have asked, reasoned and even pleaded Njord to reconsider – but he refused to change his mind”          

Again the informal referring occurred, the Lie God understood exactly why the enchanting creature refused to show any respect to the old man.

The child repeated her plea, it didn’t get through but it did weigh down the saddened young woman.

“Syn, I would take you with me” the elder outstretched her hand “But you won’t go with me, I know” her hand fell back to her side heavily.

Shaking her head, the babe continued shedding precious tears.

“You understand, don’t you, sweetheart? I can’t stay here if I would, you know it would no longer be me...”

Syn nodded without words, her almost soundless cries escalating into uncontrollable hiccups.

“I would be forced to use this” the female shifted her bound hair to the side, to reveal a tiny blackened flower entwined with a strand. The tiny bud was tucked beneath the locks just above her right temple.

A barely audible string of ‘no’ escaped the little child.

“Yes, the Death Flower” her tone was morbid. “In the Unnamed realms I have been gifted with something that allowed me to continue with my purpose. I... I’m a coward, Syn. I am afraid of so. many. things. I couldn’t possibly trek from one world to another with my meek abilities to ensure my integrity. The Guardians gave me the most precious thing of all – escape. They claimed to have seen my purpose worthy of being continued and I needed to be sure enough of myself to never hide from it. An item that would make me invincible, not in the sense of protection though. Now, I do not fear anything. If I were to ever meet a situation of no escape – death shall be my way out. To me it’s not the end, even if I would never again witness another world with my eyes. I would still be content because I know I can find a different purpose in the Unnamed Realms. Fame and glory were never things that I wished to attain, therefore Valhalla never held any appeal to me... If I cannot find a way out of this marriage, as trifle a reason as it may seem to others, I will die and go to my beloved realm without a single regret.”

Sigyn walked towards her weeping sister and embraced her. The child clung to her as if with the intent of never letting go.

“I wish things were different” she whispered.

“As do I” the little girl replied through her heart-wrenching tears.

The Vanir Goddess kissed the child’s forehead, then her cheeks. She stroked the shivering ones’ hair and hugged her tightly.

The Princeling felt as if he were intruding on the private, sad moment (and he was rarely moved by someone else’s problems), although he did not set a foot away from the two. He knew that he couldn’t for reasons that escaped him; he was nailed to the place.

For the longest time – worthy of being called an eternity, the scene of grief remained. With time the wise, beyond her years, little Lady’s composure returned. Her tears were wiped away by her loving sibling and they had dried.

The sisters parted. The younger walked back to the palace and the older watched her, until Syn was far away. The doll-child broke into a run, possibly because she didn’t trust herself to not turn back. A few moments later the Vanir female marched away, her resolve unwavering for she _had_ to get away.

The young man followed. Only the sole thought ruled over Loki’s mind – Sigyn would be _his_. He would be her salvation. For once his psyche was empty of the usual conflict.

* * *

The young Goddess walked briskly through the city, oblivious to the looming shadow following her. She avoided folk that scurried about. The girl attracted no attention but kept her head held high. She passed through various back alleys, her track winding and coiling, somehow uncharted even to the stalking God. Taking various strange routes she, swifter than expected, reached an uninhabited area. Such lush meadows were not common in the tightly-lived Asgard.

Sigyn strolled beside a snaking river. The water was clear and blue, however the resolved woman took no interest in the marvelous scenery.

Soon the surroundings darkened. Loki trailed close, not letting go of her swirling presence. The male gazed into the sky, it was covered with a heavy blanket of clouds. That was odd a view in his birth-land. The shrouded heavens changed the landscape for the darker.

His interest, without stopping, cast a spell and from her circling blue-green energywhirlpool removed a shabby looking, woven pack. She slung the bag over her shoulder.

The darkness did not let up. Dreary days were a rarity in the Realm Eternal. The river on the right from the travelling Vanir was unknown to Loki. It was wider and longer than any he had witnessed in Asgard.

He stood still immediately. This time he had paid attention to his surroundings, and the revelation he was forced into – was unbelievable. The female did not seem to care as she continued walking to whatever destination she had in mind. Her route lingered by the edge of a forest.

The God of Mischief was amazed and that was an understatement. The grasses, the trees and even the flowing water – they were _not_ of Asgard. The Goddess truly did _walk_ from one world to another. What was even more bizarre – was that he managed to follow her through her path, even though she was completely unaware of him. There were no effects as the realm blended into the other, if the youngest Heir had not observed so unwaveringly – he would not have noticed passing from one branch to another. Whenever he had traveled through an ancient pathway or a newly crafted portal, which he made himself, he always felt an unnerving even sickening feeling in his insides. A travel or two had even forced the contents of his stomach out, such reactions of his body were humiliating.

The boy-prince instantly recognized the realm – it was Vanaheim. Sigyn marched right into it with a sure step, although there were expanses of vast space between here and Realm Eternal. There were no astral lines leading from Asgard to the woman’s heim-land. This extraordinary ability was beyond explanation. This was unbelievable and unthinkable. A silent thought emerged in his brain, will he be able to return the same way he had entered? Well, that was of no importance, he could afford wasting a sizable amount of energy to go back.

The God of Magic shook himself out of his stupor and quickly followed after the Vanir. The trees stood grand and imposing but lean and moving in the wind up-high. It was getting more difficult to walk, the grasses were getting taller. Some were sunburned and straw-like. Small flowers of various deep colors sprouted from the ground. He noted the many ladybirds climbing the plants. Distant songs of small birds were heard. No intricate melodies of the lithe, intricate, feathered creatures usual to Asgard flowed in the air.

The female ceased her walking a couple of hours later. She set down the light-looking bag that contained her belongings (obviously charmed to house a great deal of things) and started inspecting the area. Clearly, she was looking for a place to settle down for a moment.

The concealed Godling watched from afar, lost in the casual moment. In a flash, he realized that the girl had not looked back. Even her little sister was not enough to allow her to turn her eyes back to the life that was dead to her now.

With a heavy heart the Dark Prince left the stunning Goddess. It was time for him to go home.

* * *

 

The tired magician had managed easily enough to cross back and return to Asgard. He did just the same – he traced back her footsteps, although he knew the magic was not in the steps, it was in all her.

He slipped into the palace unnoticed and plopped down heavily on a lounge in one of the many, many hallways. The man needed to think, he still had some time until his father would find him. He doubted that Thor hadn’t forgotten to answer Odinfather’s call, therefore he was not the only one to blame. Locating the two and bringing them would require a few more grains of time. And in the meanwhile, Loki had some heavy stuff to sort through.

The male hid his face in his palms, he sighed dejectedly. What was he thinking? He was mad, raving mad! As mad as Sigyn claimed to be. The God of Deceit had seen a creature that stole his attention for a moment (a good half a day, actually) and what, now he was planning on warming up to her? Truly, his lusting nature had caught up to him. He scoffed, he hadn’t really thought about her in any exceedingly inappropriate manner. And still, he lost all sense once he gazed at her. This was not like him, to be _this_ spontaneous.

A rational part of the mischievous God’s mind interjected. She was incredibly valuable. Few minutes were used to mull over it, in the end he had to agree. The yet unsorted Goddess was powerful beyond measure and he witnessed it with his own eyes. Just hearing her stories of the Nine Realms (most of her mentioned ones he had visited personally) was enough to prove that she had travelled Yggdrasill. While he had not felt a certain ‘rhythm’ whenever he had visited Vanaheim, her description of it was accurate. The young man possibly did not feel such a connection with the Lady’s homeland because he was not a Vanir. Alfheim and Niflheim were also just as she had told.

He could not tell whether the female lived up to her name – ‘victorious girlfriend’, but her boundary-denying ability was enough to make her very precious to have near, strategically wise as well. And yet she was about to be given away to some idiotic soldier as freely as rotten food to a beggar. A shame... Perhaps it was not such a bad thing after all, almost no one knew of her true value, therefore she was not arranged into a marriage with someone of great importance. And this was more convenient, it would be easier to _steal_ her away.

His strictly logical side intervened. And how was he going to ‘steal’ her away? Bind her in chains and run? Would he try to sweet-talk her into his bed? The Trickster grimaced – he did not _need_ her like that. Perhaps he was a picky bastard with a swift interest in some unfortunate Vanir girl but he wanted her for good. The boy-prince faced the question he avoided, yes he _did_ want her in his bed. And he wanted her there for eternities to come, his and his alone. He wanted her love and absolutely everything else that was her.

Opposing thoughts were discarded. It was decided and it was undisputable – Sigyn would be _his_. There was a lot of plotting in order. His cunning would be set to test and he was setting on a card something that he was not allowed to lose.

For now, he would wait for the repercussions, the Allfather had to be furious. The Lie God would have to reap what he sowed. But no punishment, even a physical one, would manage to faze him. He would be unfeeling to it all, since the mischievous Prince’s mind was occupied with thoughts of a stunning Goddess and less than innocent plans.    

All that was left was to wait...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unnamed Realms – that's how I've chosen to call Helheim (Hel) for obvious reasons – Loki's daughter being the ruler of the realm and she's not born yet.
> 
> Death Flowers – to my knowledge there are no such thing in the Norse myths, it's an idea of my own.
> 
> The Norse cosmology (the realm placement of the World Tree Yggdrasill) has several variations. The one I‘ve chosen is based on which realm is the antithesis of another. It would be like this: Asgard – the highest branch, below – Alfheim, left – Niflheim, right – Jotunheim, middle – Midgard, lower left – Vanaheim, lower right Muspellheim, below the tree trunk – Svartalfheim and lastly the roots – Hel(heim). So basically the placement reveals each world’s opposite: Asgard to Hel(heim), Alfheim to Svartalfheim, Niflheim to Muspellheim, Jotunheim to Vanaheim (and Midgard [Earth] is in the very middle).


	4. Introduction

**Chapter four**

**_Introduction_ **

 

 

The upcoming days passed slowly for Loki, however they were used to the fullest extent. His frequent absence was not questioned due to his extravagant nature. The Prince guessed that it was a perk of being the black sheep of the herd.

Most of that time he had spent in his chambers. They were like a separate part of the Golden Palace. The young man made them so, his sanctuary was secluded. Anyone that took any interest and approached his abode – fell into his circle of awareness instantly.

The God of Mischief kept a watchful eye over Sigyn, not willing to let her disappear from his gaze. It was fairly easy to do, he was a Master of Magic after all – adept enough to stalk a realm, if the need arose. Although it was exhausting to say the least.

A huge uproar was caused due to the missing bride. Soon enough even Odin was part of it. A good portion of Asgard’s inner guards were involved in the search. However Heimdall had not managed to locate the Goddess even with his all-seeing eyes. Therefore the Guardian of the Rainbow Bride was left out of it – because it was not reason enough to abuse his services for any longer. So the young Heir was certain that Heimdall did not continue gazing out for the ferried-away Vanir girl.

Lord Njord had addressed the Allfather as soon as one of his blood-kin failed to return to Noatun. The God of Lies did not know whether the old Vanir’s plans were collapsing (if he even had any solid gain from the arranged marriage) or if he cared slightly for his missing granddaughter. But the Nobleman did do everything in his power to find her.

The high-society Asgardian women were already indulging in gossip on full throttle, while the men were as uncaring as always. The talks usually referred to Sigyn as a reluctant bride that surely had escaped. They attributed it to her ‘oddness’. For the girl was so ‘odd’, surely she had winds whistling in her ‘damaged’ head. They vilified without rest.

Even a meeting was called to discuss the matter in the Grand Throne Room of Asgard. There was no way Loki could have not attended, although he didn’t wish to. In the Golden Courtroom the God of Deceit saw the fretting groom – Theoric. The soldier wore a genuinely worried expression, completely in denial and oblivious of the rumors whispered in the court. The blond burly man stood unmoving with his weary eyes trailing the Odinfather as the King sat in his Throne, holding the staff of his power – Gungnir. He was overly attentive in order to hear a solution from Odin. From the moment the second-born Prince caught sight of the broad and very typical Aesir warrior he began despising him. He ground his teeth in annoyance, trying his best not to tear the man limb from limb in front of everyone. What a show that would be. Like the envy-green God would ever allow that boar to lay a hand on _his_ precious Sigyn.

The only other person present that shared the pure worry was his mother – Frigga. She, as always, cared most for her people, even if she hadn’t ever met them. The mother of the Heirs stood beside the seated King. The Queen’s apparel was as godly as always: the signature golden shine part of her dress and jewelry, hair uplifted as was befit. There were lines on her face that were usually void from her calm demeanor.

The rage-burning Godling’s brother was also there. Thor stood with the lightest shades of discontent gracing his features. The Warriors Three and Lady Sif were absent, having left earlier to some hotspot of small measures. Were they to return in time they would be aiding the search. The older Prince would have obviously felt better if he were with them. Idling about was never an option for the Thunder God, patience was also not in his repertoire.

Third day of combing the surroundings had come to bear fruit, unfortunately for the aimlessly questing woman. Little if anything managed to ever bypass the almighty Odin. A whiff of her presence was located and only counted hours were left until she would be reached and retrieved. If the unsorted Goddess would be found to obviously have left on her own accord – the repercussion from both Njord and the King of Realm Eternal would be great.

The young woman was still in Vanaheim, travelling slowly and languidly. She had not tried to hide herself, probably the female had not foreseen the possibility of being located – but he had. _Alas_ that would not happen because he would interfere...

It was time for Loki to make his first move.

* * *

 

The Lie God found what he sought in the east of her heim-land. He had entered the realm by his own means this time. The sorcerer was concealed by his darkness from any that could have seen him. On his way to the woman that was unaware of the impending doom of being sought out by the Aesir looking for her, the young Heir hid any signs of her campsites. He did so manually, not allowing any mistakes to occur. The boy-prince destroyed the presence left by bonfires and other things as such that could have testified of the girl’s being there of her own will. The scorched grass would grow back in a short notice, thus was the nature of Vanaheim, he did not need to care about it. He could have easily performed all these tasks with spells, the world he was in was heavily laced with magic. But Asgardian power could have been spotted by someone knowledgeable and his father was more than that. Even if he had known Vanir enchantments – any traces of magic could be noticed. The toiling man was too careful to let anything go not according to plan. He had to demolish any left-overs of his own essence in order to not be connected to this soon to be mysterious disappearance.

He spent a while invisible to the seeing eye, as he watched the woman scurry about her current retreat, waiting for a suitable moment to reveal himself. It was not like they had time in abundance though.

She wore the same dress from when he last saw her in person. Well, as much as it could be considered that – when one of them was utterly hidden from the other. The Goddess’s hair was tied in the same way. She didn’t wear the same shoes however, she did not have any footwear on, in all actuality. The male also noticed that she lacked the same accessories as well.

Her temporary outside abode was a minor clearing in the dark woods. There was a small hill of moss, it took him a second to realize that it was bedding. It would not have been surprising that the forest itself fashioned the bed for her, just because of the intriguing girl’s whim. In the middle of the space was a circle made out of stones, obviously a prepared place for a campfire. It would be lit when the weather would become colder come nightfall. Also for the reason of warning away any unwanted night guests.

The Vanir was bent as she was inspecting something when he formed his person into the visible reality. The signature-green dressed Prince greeted softly.

“Good evening”

She startled and her hand instantly started lingering on the thigh her weapon rested on. Her attention was drawn to him the moment he spoke. Narrowed eyes told him of how greatly his presence disturbed her. The Goddess was wary of his apparated person. Usually such a reaction from others was reveled by the God of Mischief but from her – it unnerved him. He was not pleased.

A moment spent contemplating passed before she returned the pleasantry.

“Evening” she said in a heavy, distrusting tone.

The Heir began his silvery introduction.

“I am--”

He was interrupted harshly.

“I know who you are, Loki” her posture did not change as she acknowledged him.

“Oh? My reputation precedes me it seems” a sinister grin split his face as he uttered the words. The young God decided that he liked how his name sounded from her lips.

She snorted, so very unladylike.

“Hardly. I doubt whether there’s anyone in Asgard who does not know who you are... your Majesty” after the slight pause the uttered title was most possibly said in an attempt to level her ground. Soften whatever reason he had searched her out in this way. The Godling however did not appreciate the proper etiquette. He preferred her respect-lacking manner or speaking.

The God of Deceit waved his hand dismissively and he looked away momentarily.

“No, no, no, no, no. There is no need for any formalities” he smiled deviously “And I know who you are as well, Sigyn” that name left a pleasant taste in his mouth, it simply rolled off from the tip of his tongue.

“Do you.” it wasn’t a question.

The boy-prince walked away and leaned into one of the giant trees. Crossing his hands over his chest, he assumed a position that would be as unthreatening as possible. She was tense enough.

“Now back to the matters at hand. I came here for a reason”

“Obviously” the young woman practically hissed. Ah, now there was his sharp, venom-tongued beauty.

“Do you not believe in coincidences?” the God of Trickery played some more.

“No, I do not”

“Good” he said strictly.

Sigyn straightened her back and looked at him with a leveled glare. He felt as if he was stared-down at from high, it didn’t bother him.

“What do you want from me?” she cut to the chase, obviously the situation was grating on her frayed nerves exquisitely.

“All in due time, all in due time” came the mysterious reply.

His playfulness was discarded. The mask of entertained indifference was changed into one of seriousness.

“You are about to be found. The search party is a few hours away, perhaps less”

The girl’s yaw slackened in obvious horrification. Her fear escalated.

Loki was quick to advocate himself.

“I have nothing to do with it. It is not in my interest to disclose your location. However, your disappearance was noticed. My father was quickly involved in it and not many in this Universe could escape him. I am not here to warn you though”

“What good that would do me, it’s not like I could hide away from Odin now”

The Asgardian prince noted the lack of proper addressing to the Allfather. He didn’t care.

“Indeed” he agreed “The Odinfather had swiftly caught notice of you”

“It’s not like I was trying to hide my presence!” Sigyn tried to defend herself. She looked down to the ground, regretting her foolish decision not to.

The man said after some silent time passing, filled with only low background noise of life on Vanaheim.

“I came here with a preposition. One I am sure you will find that you cannot refuse”

Her gaze found him in a flash, fearful thoughts slipping into her mind.

The boy-prince approached her. The girl did not step back, although he knew that she wanted to. Still she was petrified for the moment. Her hand inched dangerously close to the Dverger dagger she had, the other instantly resting on her neck – near that deadly flower.

“Of course you do have a choice”

Her very aura screamed ‘you’re too close!’. He continued.

“But what a last resort choice it would be” Loki moved a strand of her hair behind her ear, revealing the Death Flower. Before she could recoil from him, he walked away. Hoping she would understand the implication, his back was unguarded from her. It would be best if the gesture would not be mistaken for arrogance. The Godling reclined back against the tree, the same one he as before. The distance between the two returned and now the God was nowhere near that close to her person.

“You see, a couple of days prior I had taken a walk by the seaside, when the wind had whistled to me a very intriguing conversation you had shared with your sister”

The Goddess was breathing deeply, trying to calm herself it seemed.

“As you probably understand I do not need the Bifrost to travel from one world to another. I have ventured to many lands, as have you – that was how I understood that your tales were genuine. It piqued my interest so I continued listening to you, of course you were unaware of that. The descriptions you shared were explicitly truthful, so I followed. And from where you now stand – I can say without a doubt that your little sister was right – you are a child of the Universe. You can walk from realm to realm without difficulty”

“I don’t see how that could be of use to you. I cannot take you with me by my roads” she interjected, still unknowing of what the Lie God could have possibly wanted with her.

So, she did not know that he could follow her with ease. He did not comment on it.

“That is not what I am interested in. I can move the Yggdrasill in my own ways, although it is very tiresome and I do not quite have the time to do so often. The travels often leave me almost unable to venture out of my bed for hours or even days” the lean man shared details, which no one knew of. Again trying to lull the young woman into understanding that he meant her no harm and was willing to present to her exclusive information. “I cannot use the Bifrost for it. My journeys would fall into question. I need various ingredients for my spells and potions. Not everything I can attain when everyone is aware of it. Even if some of the brewings I wish to try are without reason, well at least for the moment... But you, oh you, can do so with ease. Is it really such a high price to pay? To pick for me some plants, herbs, weeds or find a rock or a gem? Hardly is that such an inconvenient thing for you. You will be able to retain your purpose of existence for the price of retrieving an item for me once in a while. It would not even hinder your questing” it wasn’t a complete lie on the mischievous Prince’s part. It was simply the bent truth – this vocally expressed bargain was not the main reason of his being here, but it wasn’t like he would be opposed to the idea of letting her bring him something he needed.

Sigyn’s demeanor did not let up. Well that was understandable, were he in her position he wouldn’t trust a random stranger offering a deal either. Even more so when the said stranger was famed for his lie-weaving silver tongue.

“I do not think you understand my reason of running away” her tone was dead-serious. She was aware of the dire situation she was in.

“Oh, but I do. You do not wish to be sold off like a common object to some despicable warrior. I can understand that. I am not offering to get you out of the punishment for escaping, although that too I will take care of if you agree, I am suggesting a way out of this arranged marriage”

“And how will you do that?” the Vanir female questioned, it was to be expected – her fate was in the balance. And if asked by any common Aesir they would say that she was dealing with a devil here.

“I have my ways but that is not for you to worry yourself with” he answered uninformatively. “You are very useful to me and I do not wish to see you wither away with some peasant. Your thriving is what I can gain from. And you have also said that you live-up to your name, well even if partially, ‘victorious girlfriend’. If that is the truth, then I also would not mind that fortune would ensure my success in some of my plots” the male gestured with his hands as if in defeat “I am the God of Mischief after all. My actions are often frowned upon by the court. I could use some luck so that that would not happen” Loki looked away and studied a climbing vine on one of the trees, taking interest in the small heart-shaped green leaves specked with white pigmentation. “Even if you do not have such an ability, your power over the boundaries between worlds is plenty enough for me to bargain with you”

He could see the Lady’s mind reeling. There was too much at stake to blindly bet it all and hope that her lucky streak would be sufficient in gaining victory. She unconsciously chewed on her lip.

“Well, of course you could refuse. Be brought back to Asgard and face the repercussions of your actions, then be forced into a marriage you do not wish to even hear about. In the end, when forced into a corner of this unfortunate reality, you would use the gift from the Unnamed Realms. You do not fear death, that I know. But is it worth cutting your life short, when you can continue your exploring of the Universe?”

He watched her unblinkingly and she watched him back.

“That is my offer, do you accept? I am afraid you do not have much time to think it over”

She found no gaps in the Throne Heir’s logic. His suggestion was very rational. But Sigyn did not forget that it was Loki – the God of Deceit, offering this deal to her. Famed was he for his silver tongue. There was no gain for him in revealing her location, if he was as selfish as she envisioned him to be (although if he found sick entertainment in watching a random girl’s pain... – she didn’t want to think about that). Even if his occasional requests would turn into something of frequency, this sort of abuse of her power she did no mind. His needs for items retrieved could widen her span of explored territories. It might even lead her to be acquainted with a wide array of interesting beings.

Perhaps she was foolish in leaning to this offer but she had her means of escape. The escape that would be necessary if the marriage was to occur. And she feared nothing more than to be forced into the role of a housewife. She was a coward and she knew that. A cage and wifely duties frightened her more than the sinister Aesir Prince. Alas that did not mean that she trusted him. The young woman questioned the waiting man, it was something far too precious for her on the line. There was no other way but to try and press him to hear his thoughts aloud again.

“And what if you betray me?”

There was something distinctly authoritative about the way the petite girl asked him. The tone of a born Ruler, a rightful _Queen_. The mischievous one’s psyche wanted to obey and fall to his knees at that voice. His body was ready to act upon that whim, only a command was missing. And the Magic Master was _never_ one to submit. The boy-prince righted his position, shifting more of his weight into the tree, not trusting his legs to not rebel against him and disobey on their own accord.

“Even if I were to double-cross you, you would always have the Death Flower – your ticket to a permanent retreat in the Unnamed Realms”

The Goddess’s hand absentmindedly rubbed her neck. It reached to the right side of her head as if to make sure that the blossom was still there. The dark-haired Prince desperately wanted to get the flower away from her. He didn’t wish to see her dead, the very possibility of that knotted his guts and created painful spasms in the intestines. The God of the craft of Magic did not doubt the potency of the Death Flower. He did not know how the bud worked and in what way it could sever one’s life (surely not by touch), but something from the Unnamed Realms was not to be taken lightly. Whenever he saw the small black flower, tipped with the barest tints of burgundy, the Godling could feel the aura of decay emanating from it (or perhaps he imagined it). It was not just a visual illusion of the deadly bud – it was the real deal.

His mental demands that wanted to separate the deadly object from the girl were suppressed. The Princeling simply could not do it because that was what made the Vanir woman brave. She could venture into uncharted territories, face various dangers only because she took solace into that easy end. He didn’t judge her, it was not an entirely unwise choice.  

“I promise that I will make sure that the flower is not taken away from you. I will not trick you myself either. That is the least I can promise, for your aid to me is very precious” the words from a Trickster – but the promise was meant to assure.

Awhile later, with reluctance the female replied.

“I accept your offer” ‘ _I do not have a different choice’_ – was not expressed vocally.

The God of Lies placed a hand on the side where his heart was beating. He sighed in dramatic relief and he closed his eyes momentarily.

“I am relieved that you agreed. This is most excellent” it was not a faux, for Loki did feel glad because she chose to enter into this bargain with him. However he hadn’t doubted the guaranteed success of this offer that she couldn’t refuse. The self-pleased Heir did acknowledge the cornered Goddess’s intellect, therefore failure was not a possibility here.

With her chin held high Sigyn approached him, her orbs steely and focused. The girl extended her small hand in a mock gesture to ensure the deal – it was so because a mere handshake could never seal anything. Nonetheless he clasped it.

His gaze was bound to her appealing form. She was petrified by his undivided attention to her body. Frightening thoughts most assuredly wormed their way into her mind. The belief that perhaps the descendant of Odin wanted more from this agreement, in the physical sense. Her heartbeat quickened and the God did not know whether it was the effect of the realm that he could hear it or if it was just a trick born in his brain. But it wasn’t just that, he thought that he could see her heart beating just beside her right breast as well. The Vanir had their organs placed in a mirrored fashion, another interesting fact about the race.

Perceiving his mistake the male scanned her from head to toe and looked away.

“You are wearing the same dress and your hair is also tied the same way as when you left – that is good. There shouldn’t be anything different from that time. Do you have the same shoes?”

She visibly relaxed, understanding what he meant. The woman’s tenseness did not return even when his watchfulness resurfaced.

“Yes, I do. I have everything from then”

The God of Mischief nodded.

“Put everything on”

The female did not hesitate as she searched her neatly placed woven bag. A very poor looking one, it was smart – the pack did not attract attention. Obviously even with an enchantment to drive any interest away, it had the air ‘there’s nothing valuable inside’ about it. It would mislead any thief or beggar if they were to see it.

She placed her feet into the strapped high-heels and she also put on the accessories of before. He carefully inspected her, ready to tell her if something was different from her image of that day (for it was etched exquisitely deep in his psyche). The girl turned back to him.

“You will have to give your bag to me. We would not want this to look planned, now do we?”

Without a thing said in objection she gave it to him.

“Did you put everything in it? I mean, how much of your things have you left back at Noatun?” he avoided the word ‘home’.  

After a shake of her head came the reply.

“I left almost everything back there. I took only a few things I held dear and some of necessity”

“Is it possible for your family to notice the missing items?”

She almost laughed but caught herself and answered.

“No, I’m very doubtful of that. Only Syn knows most about me, but even she does not enter my room or is aware of what is always present in it”

“Good. I believe your sister, your trustee, she’s reliable enough to not warn someone about the Death Flower?”

“She does not wish for me to have it but she loves me enough to think of what I want” her tone sounded saddened.

How fortunate. He couldn’t trust his sibling like this. The God of Thunder always did things how he saw them best. Perhaps not deliberately ignoring the wishes of others’ but his unawareness of them made Thor blind to any thought-through decisions. The younger Prince’s brother acted on what he believed would bring the right outcome. Curse his brother’s short-sightedness that did not extend beyond his personal perception.

“I will take your word for it” he was silent, thinking on how to phrase his next request best “Sigyn, you shall have to entrust your dagger to me as well”

While it wasn’t the Unnamed Realm blossom, it was still an item she relied on. Her very eyes betrayed that she did not want to part with it.

“I am afraid it is necessary. I will return it to you, once it will be safe to do so. Unless I have misunderstood, then no one knows that you possess this weapon, and so if they find it on your person... Well, it will fall under question why a girl would ever need it. Asgard is considered to be one of the safest places in the Universe, although it is disputable, but it is still believed so. Therefore in that understanding you would not need a dagger. But if someone was to gather that it is a must for travelling, then you would be figured out”  

“You are right on both accounts” the Vanir Goddess unstrapped the intricate weapon and gave it to him with a heavy hand. She hated how right he was. His plot was planned spot-on.

“Now, do you know of Will-o’-the-Wisps?”

“Of course” was the confused affirmative.

“Are there any here in Vanaheim?”

“Yes”

“Perfect. Could you find one?”

The young woman smiled wickedly, finally understanding why the male God was questioning about them. He returned the grin with one of his own. The young man could have sworn that he saw how the girl’s eyes changed into a glowing green, just for a second.

“Yes, I can” the reply was delicious “They can be seen often here. However they do not affect me. Once or twice I was close enough to touch one. They always try to lead those that witness them into a deadly swamp or some similar end. But if you are aware of their intent and why they choose to act so, they will not affect you”

Loki did not know why Will-o’-Wisps beckoned beings into their demise, however his sheer strength of mentality and gift in enchantment did not allow him to fall prey. Perhaps one day he would ask Sigyn to catch one for him or show him how to do it. The glowing creatures/phenomenons were a crucial ingredient in some very intriguing concoctions. It would be interesting to brew them.

“Most excellent” the Lie God commended.

“Do you think you will be able to convince the search party of a beacon-inflicted daze? Will you be able to act it out? Thus will leave your appearance here a mystery. Become the unknowing victim”

“That will be even easy, I think” the woman said, still wearing a satisfied smirk.

“Once they locate you, you will be taken back and sheltered after this big ‘shock’, which you will have survived. The wedding will be rescheduled at least a couple of months away. No one will force a woman that has had a recent trauma to celebrate a wedding, when she is not quite herself. I am sure of that. And in that time I will make sure to create a loophole for the marriage to not take place at all” in his mind the sentence was finished with ‘ _because you will be mine by then_ ’.    

The girl said nothing, she simply seemed happy with her deal. He rather liked the glee emanating from her.

“Ah, and when you will follow it, do not be wary of mud, twigs and tree-branches--”

“--Because I’ve been here for a while and I was hypnotized into following blindly” the Goddess ripped the words right out of his mouth. The male smiled.

“Yes. You have to get going now”

Sigyn glanced about the camp, still seeing many signs of one’s presence.

“I will clean this up”

She looked the God of Mischief up and down. The green-black, tight clothed (with the only exception being the long coat flowing at the bottom) Prince looked far too royal (in his own Loki-way) for manual labor. Well, it’s not like she did not look like an escapee from a ball. The female was still unconvinced though. The young man was the God of Magic, a white-handed boy-prince.

He didn’t look at her again as he started dismantling the ring made for the campfire. Noticing the Heir to be completely immersed in his task, she said softly.

“I will be going now”

His eyes found the Vanir woman again. His sinister smile extended into his words.

“I will be seeing you soon, Sigyn...”

* * *

 

When all the traces of inhabitation were erased from the forest, the burnt plant-life regrown, Loki retreaded back to Asgard. After a discreet scouting of the happenings in the Golden Palace he immediately returned to his chambers. The Godling headed straight for his bedroom. He walked to one of the many corners in the green-hued room. There the young man removed a curtain from a mirror, one of the many in his sanctuary. The reflective surface did not differ from a normal mirror but it was more than that. He traced the enchanted and engraved symbols in the corners of the glass. The prince sat down on the carpeted floor cross-legged.

Oh, he did not doubt Sigyn’s acting skills, he was sure that she could handle the situation. But that did not mean that he did not wish to see the magnificent in its wickedness performance. The mirror soon revealed the view of Vanaheim. Night had fallen but he had no trouble seeing clearly in the meekly illuminated darkness. The five crescent moons in the sky were enough light.

The woods were as imposing as always, even more so at night. There were Will-o’-the-Wisps playing about the trees, all were green-tinted. They flied around like fireflies, looking much like the bad omens that they were. In the midst of the visage was the stunning woman, looking perfect even with the tattered dress. Her garb and hair were ruined, one of her earrings missing. The young Lady’s feet were filthy, probably from an uncaring walk into ankle-deep swamped terrain. The hem of her now again vividly orange dress was shredded. Twigs and leaves adorned her head like a crown. There even was an angry red gash on her cheek, probably made by a sharp branch. That was the girl’s stage make-up, now for the theatrics...

She was following one of the glowing green orbs, the center of the brightest yellows. There was no sight of the search-party in the vicinity but still the female was playing the part. The Goddess extended her hand to the Will-o’-Wisp and it fled further from her grasp. The Vanir’s gaze was fixed onto it, unseeing anything else beyond the flying orb. Her eyes were glazed and hypnotized. Her outstretched hand did not fall as she slowly walked after the soft light emanating object.              

Had the Lie God not known this to be just an illusion for the ones after her, he would not have questioned this all too real looking hypnosis display. The male even had to discard nagging thoughts that were too bent on believing what he saw. He was starting to get anxious but at the same time he was entertained by the faux.

Sigyn was approaching a swamp. Its murky waters were illuminated by the flying Will-o’-the-Wisps and the moons above. The watching man could tell that the body of water was not shallow.

Out from the distance emerged Odin and Njord on their steeds, accompanied by a small group of soldiers. The girl’s name was shouted a couple of times by her grandfather. They wasted no time once they noticed the glowing orb beckoning the girl to a watery grave. The horses galloped closer to the wandering person. Lord Njord together with the King of Asgard were first to dismount. The old Vanir rushed to the Lady in daze. Her foot was already submerged in the swamp when she was forcefully plucked away from it. Just a few seconds later and the young woman would have fallen into the water.

The Nobleman was on his knees in the moss, cradling his grandchild. The Allfather was leaning worriedly over them. The man embracing his kin whispered her name softly.

“Sigyn?”

A moment later the glazed eyes of the Goddess returned from gazing into nothingness to the focus of the Vanir holding her. Loki could see the fake tears in the corners of her eyes.

“Grandfather?” the granddaughter questioned, then she instantly threw her arms around him. After a startled minute Njord produced a blanket seemingly from out of nowhere, he used it to cover the shivering child. The Master of Magic registered the spell the Vanir used but it was not the magic of Asgard so he did not know it.

Other than a few orders to the soldiers concerning their travel back, there was no conversation shared. No questions were asked of the missing-and-found girl-child. The female was carried and sat on the Lord’s horse. He mounted the creature as well since the girl-woman looked close to blacking-out.

* * *

 

The sorcerer was transfixed, he didn’t allow his sight to wander away from the group.

The woman was carried by her grandfather while the Allfather walked beside them. They entered the Asgardian palace, heading straight for the infirmary. It extended into a whole wing of the grand fortress. The area was large and full of empty beds. It was rarely occupied by anyone, built for the purpose of sheltering victims of war. There had not been a battle as great in the heart of the realm for the medical chambers to be used in a long, long time.

The girl was placed onto one of the beds. The rushing healers were all ushered out. They were unneeded since she had not sustained any injuries. Sigyn was sleeping – whether she really was or not – the Trickster God could not tell.

Njord fixed the blanket atop her seemingly with care. Both Rulers (the King and the ex-Ruler) then exited the room. The Dark Prince could see the pestering wish to question the Vanir female on his father’s face. It wasn’t the wellbeing of her that troubled Odin. No, it was simply a strike to his pride as a Leader – that was what he cared for – to rule well. There was no personal interest in his people, only the quality of his kingship mattered.

With the doors closed the Aesir and Vanir shared a quiet conversation in the hallway. The Odinfather was anxious to find out any information, while the Lord expressed his feeling of gratitude and ease for his granddaughter’s safe return. The two elder Gods theorized on how the girl could have gotten into the now-forgotten world of Vanaheim. Njord was slightly perturbed by it. In the end of the brief talk they had agreed that it was the Will-o’-Wisp that led and dazed the young woman into brainless following – it was not at uncommon happening, many were lost in such a way. It was Odin that suggested the possibility of the realm itself acting up and connecting its branches with Asgard – to call upon a missing child home. The Vanir said that it was not something he had ever heard of in his years but confirmed that it was not impossible. On the Allfather’s request (more like order) an interrogation was set first thing tomorrow morning.

After a short farewell both men had walked their ways separately. The Nobleman most probably returned back to Noatun and the King to his waiting wife.

The God of Lies was happy that neither had suspected a thing, his plan was a success. He rose from his position and went to get some rest himself. His sleep was trance-like for he was still aware of Sigyn’s presence. Loki had to ensure her safety even if it was absolutely unnecessary. With her wellbeing on the line – the Heir dared not to take any chances.        

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will-o'-(the)-wisps – are mythical ghost-lights that are seen by people (mostly by travellers) at night, and if they follow they meet their demise (in swamps and similar places). Or they could mark a location where a treasure is hidden, however one had to be brave enough to try and get it, for usually if returned during daytime to the same location, the riches would already be gone.  
> There are many synonyms for it: Jack-o'-Lantern, Min Min Light, Ghost-light, Fire Serpent and etc. They can also be interpreted as beings of the fae kin that lead people astray.


	5. Conversation. Part I

**Chapter five**

**_Conversation._ ** **Part I**

 

 

Gladsheim was always perfect in every way, therefore no early preparations were required and at dawn not many were awake. The young Prince’s emerald eyes opened instantly. He wasted no time getting up from his bed. Not well rested by the far too few hours of alert slumber – even more alert than was his norm. What one might have considered to be pure paranoia was Loki’s way of always being ready, no matter the circumstance. He didn’t long or indulged in the inviting sleep his green and more feathery than usual bedding offered. The God of Mischief had an unwavering resolve when the need would arise, whether for an obviously set goal or a shadow one.

With a flick of his wrist the Master of Magic was dressed. Not a single strand of hair out of place – that was his image – seemingly divine, eternal, even cold.

He took his seated place in front of the all-seeing mirror (and it was just a name; as was the constant of this Universe – any absolutes should not be taken quite so literally). There was much even the most powerful of items as well as his most honed abilities could not witness.

The visage of Sigyn was presented. From whatever indicators the God understood that the young woman had not rested easily. Perhaps she shared his ‘phobia’ of the unexpected too. She shifted more than was necessary.

Soon a designated healer approached the sole occupant of the infirmary. Sleep was feigned and the girl roused more quickly than a slumbering person would.

There was a questioning to occur at early morning. The kind-faced, still-young woman (older than he or the Vanir, hidden beneath linen and a thick blanket) was present for a reason. The healer’s physiognomy was lined with heavy lines, she had assisted in this position when the wing was actually used to its full capacity. War – the Godling could read that from the plainly-garbed female.

The appearance of the Lady should be cleaned up until it was proper for a meeting with the King (even if it was an informal and unofficial one). The older woman ushered the believed to be traumatized girl to be bathed. Loki noticed the wariness of the healer. He thought it to be the work of Njord, for he had to have doubts about his grandchild’s disappearance as well as her reluctance towards the upcoming marriage.

The watching man bit the fingernail of his thumb, this could be troublesome, very much so. He was aware of the Vanir enchantments cast on the room. They restricted the ‘shaken’ girl’s magic to an almost complete zero. Only a bit was left, most possibly to allow her any barest of needs to be taken care of with a few spells. If the Lord had shared his thoughts on Sigyn’s impending wedding with the Allfather, and if he were to heed them – this would be bad. Although the boy-prince hoped that that would not be the case, it could compromise the whole arranged ordeal and he knew that the Nobleman held his image in court to be nothing short of utter importance. A failed marriage and a child with questionable priorities and propriety would be a hefty blow to the Vanir’s unquestionable position. His daughter Freya was plenty enough of a thorn in his side and another from her young ones would be an intolerable occurrence.

The God of Lies worried. If his plan were to fail and Odinfather were to know of the female’s deliberate and unauthorized escape – the punishment delivered would be harsh. The Heir did not wish for this to befall the one he chose to help. He did not have any delusions that pressed enough she would not disclose his cooperation in this fiasco. It would be a smart choice to throw part of the blame on the son of Odin, that way the lash she would receive would be halved. And if his father would be of his usual self, then his own child would shelter even more of the guilt. The King could never stomach his children misbehaving. And sometimes the mischievous child doubted the fairness of the judgment – it could be crueler than was necessary. Mercy was not spared often on his person. The young Prince could deal with a lot of the repercussions that his actions had brought on him and in this case he did not care much for himself, she was above him in his priority list. Keeping her safe would also ensure the safety of his own hide.  

The Goddess complied and left the white-sheet bed. The other female said in a calm and soft tone that she would help her clean herself. It was common for women of high status to be bathed by servants and although not of Asgard’s highest upper class circle – Sigyn still was a Princess (even if an untitled one). So it was no surprise that she would be used to such treatment. The healer was meant to aid her more for the sake of preventing any foolish actions led by her ‘questionable’ sanity, than royal service.

What the male did not expect was the mini-apocalypse crossing the Vanir’s features. It was soon replaced by a non-genuine smile and she asked to be allowed to attend to her cleanliness on her own. He witnessed the disagreeing notion pass through the healer. It was inescapable, there was no way the recently found missing female would be allowed to do as she pleased. The young woman was aware of it as well, for she pushed all of the magic allowed into the sole purpose of convincing the obstacle. Her eyes were threateningly narrowed throughout the procedure. She only relaxed once the healer fell prey and she happily agreed to leave. The Godling did not know why the girl-woman persisted so to get rid of her. He didn’t think much on it, perhaps he would come to solve this little mystery later.

The healer dismissed herself. The sole person present in the infirmary was glaring daggers at the plain and thin patient gown meant for females. Quite some time passed until she managed to get over the loathing and take it in her hands, although her eyes did not relent a bit, she was still pissed off. The upset Goddess headed for the washing rooms.        

The bathing quarters were similar to the healing ones: colorless, clean and large. There were many spaces meant for washing up, designated to various patients of different injuries and needs – from tubs to showers. All of them separated by curtains, although it did little to ensure proper privacy.

The infirmary garb was thrown onto one of the many little tables, covered with vials and bottles – an array of medicine and cleaning oils. Sigyn spared one last displeased look to the near-transparent clothing she had received. Her gaze then lingered on her opened palms, a visage of helplessness encasing her.

The young man understood her dilemma, the girl had realized the fact that her spells were inaccessible to her.

Angered fists shook, no final glance was given. She spun on her heel and strode towards the many mirrors beside the sinks. All the same reflective surfaces, no different from one another. She unbound her loosely tied hair and started removing various twigs and leaves from it.

Loki did not know exactly what did not satisfy her in the plain gown but whatever it was – he could most possibly fix it for the better. The Goddess’s power was limited, his was not. It was easy to turn the piece of clothing into a thick, fluffy dark blue robe. The God of Magic however left no traces of his signature energy behind – even such a minor detail could fall into the notice of his father. It was best not to take any risks, especially not for such irrelevant things. He performed the enchantment just for the fit of it, there was no necessity to do it. The Throne Heir simply had a fancy and acted upon it.

Once her hair was void, more or less, of the debris from her forest travel, she turned back. A surprised look crossed the Vanir’s expression. She eyed the newly formed article of clothing warily. The male was aware that there was no way she could have recognized that it was his magic behind it. Even if she were to know the texture of his power, it was hidden – therefore there was no way she could perceive who was behind this act of wizardry.

The distrusting woman approached the wheeled tables, she stared hard at the blue bathrobe draped over one of them. When she finally took it into her hands her hardened mood did not lighten. The Dark Prince although did see the way she clutched it close to herself, as if the garment could disappear at any moment. He was pleased beyond measure, his small display of power had not only managed to relieve whatever that had plagued her, but it also told him that he managed to intuitively read her well. Having never cared for the troubles of others led him to never aid or ease anyone. Such a seemingly pointless act was truly a rarity from such an apathetic person as he. The Lie God did not wish to scope this choice at all. Whatever that said about his newly-found attention to Sigyn – was not in his interests to investigate.  

With a handful of other necessities the young woman went towards one of the curtained areas. A previously never surfaced voice of himself whispered in his mind to follow with his eyes. He wrinkled his nose in distaste at the perversity. Bathing rituals were not attractive, unless the person knew he was watched – then the view could be spectacular. Sometimes he loathed his own crooked ways. The God of Deceit not only disliked the first strange suggestion at spying on the Vanir but also the correction that if she were aware of his wanted gaze that it would be worthwhile looking in. He snorted indignantly. It was not like he had not seen a female naked. Many times through various methods and sources he had, it was when his much younger self had been intrigued by it. Not for the purpose of touching himself and such though. He always had a curious nature.

Asgard’s Heir waited idly with a book for the interrogation to begin. He needed to make sure of its success, all that was left was to wait patiently.

Sigyn emerged from the washing rooms. She desperately clutched the front of the fastened midnight hued robe. The woman walked uncomfortably and the man wondered why. She retreated into the bed she had previously occupied. The same healer appeared as well, but she paid no mind to the resting Goddess as she scurried about the chamber attending to things that did not really require any attendance. The older female left shortly after.

The sly Prince was multitasking: taking short glances to the idly sitting Vanir beneath the covers and reading his spell book.

Awhile later a delegation of Gods entered the room. A trio of powerful beings indeed. Two men – the mischievous Godling’s father Odin and the young Goddess’s grandfather Njord, the other being his mother Frigga. Her presence there was puzzling. Most possibly the Queen was going to act like the pillar of support (a mediator) – her constant position in situations of various range of importance. The most powerful Goddess was going to anchor the duo of imposing male Rulers.

The party that had come had quickly shared the pleasantries of greeting. A look of fake fright crossed the youngest one’s physiognomy. And the God of Lies knew it to be so because it did not resemble her honest wariness, which he had witnessed in their first real meeting. What a good girl, he grinned, no request of such was made but she still acted upon her best of interests instinctively. There was no need to fret – she was a mesmerizingly convincing actress.

The child Vanir returned the gesture with just a meek nod and a tight gripping of the blanket, which was uplifted slightly as if means of hiding. A look of dissatisfaction reflected in the foreign Nobleman’s face. He was disapproving and angered by her lack of proper etiquette displayed in front of the royal Aesir.

The Queen glided to the side of the seated girl and sat down on the edge of the small iron-framed bed. She looked truly concerned for the princess-not-really-princess’s wellbeing.

The Allfather’s cross-armed pose was imposing. Omnipotence was emanating from both of the men. The King said in his booming tone.

“Sigyn Freyadottir, we have come here to question you about your disappearance” the maternal name was probably used by the boy-prince’s father instead of the paternal because her predecessor was under speculation. As always the Love Goddess attracted gossip like honey attracted bears. Although as much as was claimed to be known about her dalliances – just as much of it was doubtable.

The Odinfather was interrupted by his wife’s soothing voice.

“Dear, how are you feeling?” she received a stern look from her husband for interjecting. It was replied to with a glare that didn’t really deserve the name. Loki’s mother did not need any expressively temperamental expressions to get her point across. It was obvious that she disapproved the unbendable resolve in the two Gods present.

“I-I am well, y-your Highness” a quiet, quivering answer came. Frigga brushed her hand on the girl-child’s forehead checking for any temperature irregularities. A calming smile was on the older woman’s face.

Odin cleared his throat and continued.

“That is most fortunate. However I must ask you, do you know where you were found when you were missing?”

A shake of her head.

“Are you aware that you were lost not in this realm?”

A ‘scared’, tiny nod.

“How did you get there?” the ‘do you know’ and ‘are you aware’ were discarded. Contrary to the common knowledge the Allfather was not an exceedingly patient creature. The young Vanir’s disappearance now mattered not just for petty politics with his ‘friend’ and up-keeping his name as a good Ruler, but for strategic, political and war-related points Asgard-wise.

“I-I-I don’t know” a teary tone, which had lost a lot of its near-silent volume from before.

The Queen’s hand smoothed down the visibly shrunken Goddess’s back. She was trying to console the child.

Njord was not pleased.

“How did you get there? Think, child!” leveled was the question of the elder Vanir but with barely concealed tint of a threat or something similar. Her grandfather, who was meant to be here for the reason of mental support – was acting as nothing of the sort.

“I don’t know!” Sigyn shouted out quietly. “I d-don’t remember” she said and hid in his mother’s side, who wasn’t lost even for a second and continued with her balm-like strokes. Frigga was motherly and she treated the girl just like a child of her own.

“What do you recall?” the Odinfather prodded resiliently but now with a slightly measured tone.

“Last thing I remember I was talking a walk. A-and then there was this light, it was just so bright... Tha-that’s the last thing I remember. Then I woke up, it felt like w-waking up, and I saw grandfather”

The strict line of the King’s lips indicated that he was not happy with this lack of useful information. He questioned further.

“Where did you see the light? Where were you at that time?”

“I-I honestly do not know, your Highness! Everything is just blurred and I can’t clearly recall even the happenings of the day before that light”

There was no use trying to find out more from the woman with hypnosis-induced amnesia. Even with enchantments to see into her mind it would all prove useless – everything would be erased by the Will-o’-Wisp that led her astray. Therefore the Allfather ended this conversation before asking more questions that intrigued him – because there would be no solid answers to any of them.

“Very well” a cryptic, very Odin-esque phrase was uttered.

The Queen then quietly said a few ushering words.

“Rest now, Sigyn. You must be very tired”

After a curt farewell and the wishing of retrieving her strength back, the Lady was left alone in the infirmary.

Once the Rulers and the Nobleman were far away the interrogated young woman sighed loudly.

* * *

 

Loki returned to his book, waiting for things to quiet down before he made his appearance. The Goddess was given her breakfast as soon as the high royalty had left. Perhaps the meal was not brought before because of her ‘state’. A hysterical patient might have heaved back any food due to fear of the questioning or the strain and stress they could have undergone. There probably was a story on that. Not that he was too curious about it, still it could have been entertaining and hilarious to know about.

And so the Godling ceased his tracking of the girl and instead focused onto the Rulers. The two male Gods shared a curt conversation on the wedding of the found one, and it was heated only on Njord’s side.

* * *

 

When the plates were cleaned and disposed of, the area void of any annoyances, the Prince apparated. Black shadows extended on a nearby bed, smoky swirls of ebony with the barest tints of emerald. The traces of his signature envy-green energy. His outstretched form made itself visible on the piece of furniture beside the resting female. She noticed it only when the transition was complete, not that he was hiding from her.

“Loki!” a startled call of his name escaped her dye free lips. Surprise but not a hint of fear – that was a good thing. Her face was void of any make-up and it made her look as young as she truly was, maybe even slightly younger. The smirking male appreciated the use of his given name, formalities were a bother if they were to be from her. Insincere respect even more so – he had received plenty of that from the court and high-society privileged warriors.

“Sigyn” he greeted in return, his voice velvety as he acknowledged her. He turned his posture to the side so that the angle would allow him to see her better. Hand leverage to his head, legs still crossed. He bent the room to his will, although in this area it was difficult – he managed. Now no one would notice him or the Lady, who prior would have been seen as conversing with imaginary beings.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon”

The Heir offered nothing to counter the voiced remark.

“I came with news of your wedding”

Her physical self deflated visibly, her bright aura withdrew as well. He continued.

“The date has been changed, a delay of three months – approximately, it is possible that they will reconsider. I believe it was with the involvement of my mother, chastising father if he were to be pressured by his _friend_. Since you are so ‘fragile’ right now, both mentally and spiritually, you have to be given reprieve”

“I see” no joy as to be found in the sound. Well, her ‘sentence’ was only delayed not removed. The Vanir’s eyes were narrowed grimly but too glassy for the God’s liking. Her attention was drawn somewhere far away, beyond the distant wall across the chamber. He wanted that gaze to be back on him.

“It is plenty of time to conjure a plot” he grinned as the stormy eyes met his sinister ones. “You – in a gilded cage – will bring me no gain. Obviously this marriage will have to not occur. That oaf is in the way” distaste rung in the last words. Even before her connection with Theoric – inwardly that name was growled, he had no good impressions of the man, he disliked the warrior. One of the Allfather’s Crimson Haws, an elite. Not wishing but still knowing all by name. As much as it left a bad aftertaste in his mouth, even when just thought about, still it was too foolish to leave anything unobserved. And the boy-prince was observant if anything.

The girl nodded absentmindedly not really convinced of her escape, she added while not really justifying.

“Theoric’s a good man. Kind and all that – but it’s not enough. I don’t care for compromises, I don’t wish to marry. Although there could have been far worse grooms than him – it is still. not. good. enough. He may be endurable but there’s no way that he would allow his ‘wife’ to be anything but a proper ‘housewife’. Maybe even far more homey than the married court women back in their homes. My glorious days would be over”

Her gloom briefly infected him too. The God of Deceit shook it off quickly. His opinion on the soldier was far less in the good spotlight.

“He is in this more than just for the convenient and agreeable deal made by your grandfather” he was not referring to the same traditions the mortals had in Midgard when he said ‘deal’. No, Asgardian wedding regulations were different, although had some common nuances, which the human men had loaned. Bride prices, morning gifts and dowries were not of their tradition – although similar variations might have been greeted in Asgard or other realms of Yggdrasill. Not quite ‘morning’ gifts were sometimes given to brides by their new husbands, in politics ‘bride prices’ could be secretly played with as well.

“Oh?” the young man had weaved an intrigue for her.

“He’s attracted to you”

“How can you tell?” Sigyn questioned.

“I saw him in court when your search was organized. He had this worried, beaten-puppy look on his ugly physiognomy, revolting” the Prince was not stingy with the insults but the Goddess did not care.

“And that tells you that he’s attracted to me?” Loki’s sole words were not bought, not with ill intention though. A further elaboration was required.

“Yes. I can tell just by that one look” his explanation was short.

With a quirk of her pale rosy lips she replied.

“Then I’ll trust your judgment, you are the God of Lies after all”

The Godling snorted, looking away. He was distrusted and ridiculed – how quaint – but that was nothing new to him.

“I mean you can probably tell the deceit of others” she added. In this short conversation her mood had lightened from its dreary mode that had been present in the beginning.

That was surprising – not many had viewed him with their voices void of wariness or even badly disguised mockery.

“Hn” was his throaty reply but the girl-woman understood the agreeing to her voiced aloud opinion.

A quiet moment extended between then. It wasn’t awkward but it was still heavy. She drummed her fingers on her bent, blanketed knee. The Prince’s broodiness had metaphorically frozen the air. The female was the first to break the icy tension.

“And you came to tell me of the decisions made on _that_ ” seemingly she could not utter the dreaded words ‘wedding’ or ‘marriage’.

The male’s attention was snapped back from his dark thoughts.

“Oh no, I came here to check upon your health” came the playful and drawn out reply accentuated with a dashing smile.

She laughed at the jest, he bathed in the glowing pride that he was the cause of her mirth. Still he had not replied to her question (and she doubted that he would), so she changed the subject.

“Well, since you are not occupied with anything, then tell me a story”

“A story?” he asked bewildered, while she shifted on the bed. She still consciously held her hand to the front of the robe she wore, as she moved. Lying down on her stomach she rested her head on her hands, a delighted expression ruling her features. Her now uncovered feet swayed back and forth in a childish notion.

“Mhm, well you had found me in Vanaheim, therefore I know that you can travel the Yggdrasill by some other measures than the Bifrost. And you must have fought some battles in other realms, so... please tell me of your travels”

His attention was drawn back to her. It was not the first time he was requested to share tales of his ventures. It was a common conversation starter that females indulged in with males. In order to show interest in what the Aesir men deemed themselves prideful of, no doubt for the reason of stroking their blatant self-loving. Although the God knew that such talks were rarely of any interest to the Ladies that asked of adventures to be told (unless the man in question swayed them enough for even completely out of their sphere of interests stories would be found fascinating). Whenever he had been asked of such in any balls and social gatherings, he could easily see the disinterest in the askers. It was something of etiquette. And the Lie God was only the second-best, so it wasn’t genuine curiosity that led women to question that. He was considered to be a Trickster, therefore in any war related topics he was considered a coward and an unworthy warrior, unlike like his ‘Golden’ brother. Thor on the other hand was the magnet of attention, perfect in every sense. And sometimes Loki believed that he was the only one who saw his elder’s flaws.

What Sigyn asked though extended into things he couldn’t discuss. No one from court (or anywhere near those circles of Realm Eternal) knew about his true abilities, he was just a prankster to them, therefore the depth of his travels was never disclosed. In truth he meddled with the forbidden and that held a much, much darker sense, beyond that of mere pranks and trickery.

However he would have never complied with such a request, especially if the situation was not mandatory, in which case the God of Mischief would have to incorporate his silver tongue to its full capacity. But the Vanir was a completely different matter. The way her eyes shone with truer-than-true curiosity – it was baffling, he couldn’t resist. The young man had already shared more than a secret, he hoped that she would consider how much he revealed to her. Although if he was rational – her thinking pattern was painfully clear to him. He was royalty and though known for his infuriating but mostly harmless trickery, who would ever believe if she were to spill everything he shared – that was definitely what she thought. Therefore the girl had no reason to back her trust on what he disclosed about himself.                

Loki had to repress a sigh. It could have been misinterpreted as an indicator of disinterest or disrespect. He wished not for her to misunderstand him and his motives.

“You have travelled the World Tree, therefore I do not think there is much of what you would consider interesting for me to tell you. Furthermore, I lack your wonderment at the realms and so my tales would not have that which you so passionately admire”

The girl-woman shook her head.

“I haven’t explored all that much, there’s plenty I’d like to hear. It would be interesting to view the worlds from your perspective. And I know that you are observant so it is obvious that you have captured in memory that which I find intriguing”

“Observant? And how would you know that?” the Trickster God inquired. And although he knew that he had the trait, the male still wanted to hear how she uncovered it.

“Oh I can tell by your demeanor. The things you recall and the way you plan something is nothing short of the most attentive attention to detail. I don’t think that I have misjudged”

He smiled. It was a compliment and a sincere one at that. Relishing the feeling of being appreciated for something he possessed, he turned back to her.

“Well, the winds whispered to me the conversation you held with your little sister. It had called to my attention and I had listened to it. I still remember which realms you have not visited. Would you like to hear about one of them?”

“Yes” no thought was included before she answered. Instantly he bound her interest to him. And he liked it.

“How about Muspellheim?”

The woman nodded eagerly.

“Well it is as hot as it is told to be” he snickered at his own jest and she grinned at it in amazement. It was astonishing how easily he could please her mind.

“I bet”

“Not a place one should enter without protective gear. Even to us Gods the temperature and fumes are heavily overbearing. I had been there a couple of times, once for the reason of stopping an invasion on Asgard. Rock Trolls were building an archway to this realm. My brother and I accompanied with other warriors were sent there to prevent the attack” he ceased any further elaborations about it. Feuds were not something neither he nor obviously she wanted to hear. His remembrance was accursed, the Godling had flashbacks of returning home in the shadow of his victorious brother. No one else minded it and of course not the Warrior Three and definitely not Lady Sif. Even as the credit was beheld by Thor alone and the aid of others went unnoticed – nobody ever cared for it. While the youngest Heir was left to boil in his despising of a ghost existence he was chained to since the very beginning.

“On my other visits my intention was more personal, not related to the Allfather’s bidding. You are interested in the scenery?” the man continued without waiting for her reply for he knew what the answer would be “It is all fire and melting rock. Nothing thrives there, everything is burned by the primal fire. Rivers of flames and erupting volcanoes – that is all that there is to see. Do not misunderstand me, it is a sight to behold, however scorched it is. The sky is covered in ash – grey all over. Full of miasma and various gasses – something that mostly just the inhabitants can withstand. Their sole sun never sets, even as Muspellheim turns. However the ash creates clouds that immerse the world into this darkened twilight” the tale-telling Godling made a pause, searching his conscious and subconscious for anything else that she would fancy hearing.

“Have you seen or perhaps met any Fire Giants?” Sigyn asked not bothered by the brief silence in the story.

“Hmm, yes – both. Some are likely to claim that Giants in general are dull or even dumb creatures – but that would be a fatal mistake. I have never made any conclusions on things I have personally not confirmed. When I was there with the other Aesir on the mission, we had seen a group of Fire Giants in the distance. While the others even joked about their absolute dullness as the beings never approached or paid any attention to us, I summarized differently. Later my assumptions were proven right. They were and are uncaring of our business, and although it took place in their territory – it had nothing in common with them. Therefore they are prone to ignoring any visitors. Our trouble is not theirs, therefore if it does not touch them directly, they choose to not involve themselves... I don’t really like Muspellheim” the boy-prince ended with a furrowed brow.

“Why?” she uttered dazed by his tellings, wanting to learn more and more about the realm she had not set foot in.

“I... I cannot bear it. Even with the proper protection the heat seemed to seep into my very bones. I felt sick every time I was there. Others did not share my unease” the Lie God disclosed a weakness. It was an unwise thing to do but he hoped that with a streak of luck he could earn her trust with these important things he shared. He knew that the Vanir would not forget his uttered words, however if he did not give her reason to abuse them – there was the belief that he could bend her into liking him.

“How peculiar...” the female noted with amazement ringing in her pleasant voice.

She shifted closer to his person on the nearby bed. Still clutching the midnight blue robe to her attractive form, Sigyn extended her hand and touched his. A jolt of her magic coursed through his body – the good kind. He was puzzled at the small contact she made. As the Lady retracted her limb she said.

“Just as I thought”

An eyebrow was arched.

“Your hands are cold” there was a short moment where she blushed in embarrassment and elaborated further “I had briefly brushed your skin when I was giving you my bag, I had noticed how cool your flesh seemed. Perhaps your usual body temperature just can’t handle the oppressing heat of Muspellheim”

He said nothing at it. However he did hear the lack of an unpleasant tone when she noted of his strange coldness. There was none of the revulsion he might have expected.

The Asgardian Heir finally realized why she held the clothing so dearly to her. The Goddess disliked being completely nude beneath it, probably felt uncomfortable because of it as well. That is why she glared so obviously at the gown she was presented with. The thing being that the boringly-colored piece of cloth that it was – would not have hidden her nakedness well, and only made everyone else aware of it. Loki did now know why but he grinned as he pieced this information together. Being aware of something that made Sigyn who she was, was intoxicating. The piece of puzzle fell right into place and he was thirsty to know more. Feeling diminished when you were being denied of proper clothing was nothing bizarre. Perhaps something many would not be too swayed by, but the Vanir girl was not one of those. After consideration the man thought that he could relate to that.

“Tell me more?” a cute, expectant look crossed her young and beautiful face.

“If my Lady desires so” the Godling smirked deviously.

She looked away flustered – somehow he believed that she was not often pushed into such a state.

“Lady... I have never been called so” she corrected “Well, maybe I have been a couple of times but it was not something important or genuine, so it’s all erased from my mind” the girl shook her head. Probably thinking that the Prince was joking or that the words of the God of Lies should not be trusted. Oh, but he was sincere, very much so.

He ceased the flattery and did not tell her that she was worthy of the title and even much more powerful ones. It was of no use to try and convince her that he meant it, he would not be believed anyway. The envy-green God reserved the praises for later – when the female Vanir would be able to take his compliments to heart.          

“The life in the realm of primal fire is difficult. Their culture due to it is meek and scarce, traditions usually shared by spoken word among their brethren. That is why it is so hard to find any information about the inhabitants outside their world. And as they are quite secluded and distrusting – with good reason, it is nearly impossible to learn about their kin non-directly”

“I have noticed that. There aren’t many books about Muspellheim. Mostly only a chapter or so is dedicated to the conditions of it, written in adventurer-journal type of literature”

He nodded in agreement.

“Of course there is still need of supplies from other worlds, therefore they sell their goods in the black market. With the nonexistent selling routes in Muspellheim they have no other choice but to rely on shadow trading”

With a frown Sigyn inquired.

“The black market? I don’t understand why they have to sell things from under the table. I mean there are no current conflicts between them and the other realms, why can’t they trade without secrecy?”

“A very good question indeed” Loki commended “You see, the natural resources the primal element abode has to offer are very valuable and powerful. Such that are mostly used for only the strongest of incantations and potions, even their use in the crafting of day-to-day items, depending on their initial use, can create potent objects. While that may seem as something that would play out to their gain – it does not. The precious stones, ores, fossils are part of very dark magic. It would most possibly be forbidden to export any from the realm, were the proceedings to reach the legal authorities of the World Tree. And apart from the natural gifts of Muspellheim, there is not much else they have to offer to the world trade. Furthermore, no one that considers themselves of pure birth and even purer intention – would ever do business with Fire Giants. They are accursed to be seen as monsters”

“You seem to know much of the happenings behind everyone’s backs” there was no judgmental note in the girl’s tone.

“It is difficult to acquire some things and per example, the creations of Muspellheim’s heat are absolutely unattainable anywhere on the ‘daylight’ market. As a magician I am often in need of such rare ingredients and I have no objections if I have to get them by unconventional means”

“How does the black market function?” the Goddess asked, drowning in sparkling amazement.

“It is overlooked by the Dverger kin, as you are probably well aware, they are fine crafters and fine merchants. I am quite sure that your father knows of these... transgressions happening”        

“I don’t doubt that” the young woman agreed without delay “A lot of things the Dwarves make are of questionable legality”

“Indeed. Their love for craftsmanship, I think, would not allow them to not attempt forging items more beautiful, more powerful than ever before. It is their pride and such mere reasons for being denied of the best working material are not enough to prevent them” the man expressed his understanding about the inhabitants of Svartalfheim.

* * *

 

The talk the two Gods shared in the empty infirmary had consisted of various travel-related topics. A few hours later the Prince had excused himself and left the Lady to rest.

Loki’s mood had been uplifted to such a height that he wasn’t as bothered as was his norm, when he was present or the actual target of social slander. One conversation with someone who had an honest interest in his person (more accurately in his knowledge of the Yggdrasill) had caused odd momentary bliss. This would not be the last time he would pay Sigyn a visit...      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have mentioned morning gifts, bride prices, dowries – because the current happenings take place hundreds of years prior the events of Thor. Hence why the brothers and others are called 'young', and referred to as 'Godlings'.


	6. Conversation. Part II

**Chapter six**

**_Conversation._ ** **Part II**

  

    

The envy-green God had visited the Goddess from time to time. Loki had to deny himself a more frequent appearance as to not seem too interested in this ‘business deal’ he had struck. Although he could tell that the young woman did not mind his presence and even enjoyed their various conversations. The Prince had noted that her acting was worth every praise, for the earlier estimated wedding date did not change, the three months still stood.

In counted days Sigyn was discharged, when her mental state was considered to be stable enough. The female Vanir had up-kept her façade though, making her family believe that her quieter and exaggeratedly spacy demeanor indicated that she was still not over her ordeal.

The Lie God had attended the court called by the Allfather that was meant to inform the high public of the issue concerning the found bride. The attendance of the royal line was always required for these sort of things. But the youngest Heir was prone to being absent from them (not that Thor was a valiant attendant of such gatherings) as much as was possible without enacting rage from his father – the King. While he could have dismissed this meeting, he hadn’t – for it had held too much of important tellings. It would have been a pain to then discreetly gather about it in indirect ways, when all the young man had to do was be present.

The Odinfather had given his subjects an explanation that was full of truth much more than was usual, for in other instances – there were intricate details that were falsified in order to glorify something. Not for the reason of rising himself on a pedestal – his son knew that, but because the nation had to believe in their Ruler. Sweetness of glory was needed in order to keep the Aesir in line.

At the new revelation of the found Vanir goddess new talk in the court arose. Whispered words of ‘that poor thing’, ‘oh that must have been dreadful’ were attested to the retrieved lord Njord’s granddaughter. Said man had also been present, still with the permanent frown since Freya’s daughter’s disappearance. It had only solidified the theory the God of Mischief had formed. The old Nobleman wasn’t delighted or pleased for the delayed marriage. It was not important to the observing male what gain was there to the ex-Ruler.          

When the Lady-intrigue was returned to Noatun, she was under constant observation of her sisters. That was not a freewill decision on their part though. The grandfather was wary to leave the girl alone, for the combined reasons of her mental health and the distrust he felt towards her. But just a few days’ time was needed for Sigyn to convince or in some less questionable way make her caretakers go away.

She usually spent her time in the house she lived (the Godling did not call it a ‘home’, for he reckoned that to be inaccurate), sometimes with her youngest sister – Syn, or in solitude. Even as a Master of Magic, he did not risk visiting her there. His enchantment was strong – no doubt about that, but venturing to someone’s grounds, over which they kept a keen eye – was difficult and dangerous. The boy-prince would not be recognized, but traces of magic – altered to not have any ties with him, would still be left behind.

* * *

 

Loki managed to catch the girl in person when she and her sisters had visited the grounds of the Golden Asgard Palace. It was strange – the absence of their grandfather with them, even the youngest of their kin was not there.

The Lady stood behind the corner of a wall in the gardens, looking over with a narrowed gaze her siblings and their friends giggling and gossiping. She was wary, he could tell.

The mischievous one silently appeared behind the concentrating woman.

“Fancy seeing you here, Sigyn” the male whispered into her ear, leaning over her.

There was a flinch that wracked her form and she exclaimed in low volume. He was glad that she was not startled into screaming, still the possibility did not stop him from indulging in his trickster-nature.

“Loki!”

He grinned as she turned to face him wide-eyed.

“What are you doing here?” she blurted quickly.

“What am I doing here? Oh, I think that is my line” the smirk stayed stubbornly on the God of Deceit.

“Oh never mind” the Goddess said in irritation.

“Care to take a walk?” the man suggested, not fazed by the cold reply.

She glanced back to her oblivious sisters and then returned her stormy eyes back to him.

“I can’t let them...”

The Godling interrupted.

“You have a spell over them, correct?” he did not wait for her to affirm it “They are uncaring to your presence lacking from their group. I shall watch over them and when your sisters will head back – I will tell you. You will be able to join them without rising suspicion”

The female nodded reluctantly, while her mind was somewhere distant and out of his reach.

They made their way quickly. Once the two Gods were treading the borderline of the palace grounds, the second-born Prince suggested that the Lady would shorten the distance to their designated place. She shook her head saying that she most possibly couldn’t lead him there, more so when she wasn’t sure of where they intended to go. The male persisted, his companion did not realize that she did possess the ability to deny boundaries not only for herself but for others as well (she did so with Syn and him). He did not mention this though.

It would not hurt to try, so the young woman agreed. They did not have the time to travel there on foot, so it was a reasonable idea. At least it would do good to find out her limitations and whether this could be of use in future meetings. After a short description the Vanir started walking, the Heir followed.

* * *

 

In record time both stood where he had intended. Her prideful smile was infectious, he couldn’t help but return the gesture. The God of Lies had strong faith when it came to the Goddess. He also felt pride at her success.

Sigyn looked about the place with awe, the mischief-embodied knew that she would like it. That was a constant about her. The sun chose to submerge the green valley (which were lacking in the industrial-looking Golden Realm of Asgard) in darker tones. The clouds filtered and the end-summertime sadness encased closest (sun)star decolorized the vibrant palette of the scenery. A hill with tall and wide oaks, older than both of the Godlings, overlooked a shimmering lake below.

The girl, still dazed, took refugee beneath one of the ancient trees, so broad it could serve as a spot for reclining for a good ten of tightly sitting Sigyns. The male was pleased for his accurate calculations concerning her reaction to the area he had picked. He joined the female, close but not touching – she did not seem to mind his proximity at all. From the side it stood as an uncharacteristic sight of them so relaxed when both were prone to chronic paranoia.

“It’s beautiful” she uttered not drawing her glance away from what was in front of her.

A reply to it did not come. Perhaps he was too used to this or perhaps he did not share her enthusiasm (that should not have even been questioned, it was obvious that did not), but he didn’t feel himself the genuine wonder.

“You have not answered my question yet. How is it that you have gone to the palace today?” Loki said as he simultaneously raided the pocket of his long, green leather coat with magic. He removed a bottle of fine wine from it and asked.

“Wine?”

Suspicion did not mar her features.

“Yes, thank you”

The cork popped out with a spell and he handed her a crystal glass. The Lie God filled hers first, then tended to the twin in his hand. He registered that she took a gulp only after he had, although there were no indicators that it was deliberate. Still, he thought that it was (not that he believed it foolish) and the Lady deserved all the compliments he inwardly attested to her. She was a magnificent actress for he did not see any deceit in her actions.

There was a nod of satisfaction from her because of the taste of the beverage. The wine was bittersweet.

“My sisters: Lofn and Nanna had gotten tired of being locked up in Noatun. They had missed their friends. On my grandfather’s bidding they had to watch over me, so staying in the house and its premises was not their choice. Somehow they had managed to convince him to let them visit the palace. One of the reasons being that the ‘fresh air’ would do me ‘good’. Naturally, because they were going and me being their burden – I had to come along”

“It seems that your family cares about you” probably not on such a scale it was common to comprehend, but he did not voice it.

“Not really, they-- I can’t believe that this topic could possibly interest you. The pleasantry has been shared, there’s no need to trouble yourself with petty things as such” the Goddess said with a crinkle of her nose. She sipped from her glass.

He was interested, although this sort of conversations never did hit his fancy. Sigyn was the singularity in this and many other cases. The boy-prince opted to say a twisted truth.

“I am interested, else I would not have asked. There is no obligation for me to do so. However trivial a topic may seem the small details of it will help me understand you. Because we will do business together, getting to know things about you shall make it easier to maneuver our deal in a fashion that would suit us both. Being on good terms is never ill, the best it befits us – the better” the word-warping silver tongue of his said it with a serious note in voice.

Her expression showed agreement with his logic, however she was still slightly reluctant and perhaps it wasn’t his preceding reputation’s fault.

“Well then... Ummm... It’s not quite correct to say that my blood-kin care for me. My siblings did not bring me here for the reason they gave to our grandfather, it was just an excuse to meet up with their annoying circle” the female sighed “Of course it’s not like they do not care for me to the point where they wouldn’t mind me dead. They do care but just in their own way, in which my interests are overlooked or ignored”

The young man drank the burgundy liquid in large gulps. His eyes darker than usual, he did share that sentiment partially.

“And that is how Lord Njord arranged the marriage” the Prince did not question, he stated.

What escaped from the throne Heir’s mouth robbed the young woman of a big portion of her good mood.

“Yes. It... It’s not like grandfather wishes ill for me. But for him my happiness is to be attained in the ways he believes to be right, no matter if it’s the other way around... You know, I didn’t just decide to run away permanently when he had announced it to me. I did try to make him reconsider, to make him see things from my perspective. But to him it was just pure foolishness, pre-marital maiden jitters or some shite like that”

He swirled the wine in his glass, a corner of his lips uplifting at the curse.

“Grandfather doesn’t need to use us as game pawns in politics, he is content with his position. Although at times I have no idea how can he be so. Well, but because of that, arranging suitable marriages is not his goal. Lofn is older than me and she has not been wedded off yet. She is allowed to pick a suitor herself. So she waits for the ‘perfect’ one, doesn’t matter that all her previous lovers are quite decent and good in everything she desires from a husband. But they all lack one thing – a high position, just the highest layers of the Asgardian society will do, only royalty”

The male considered it for a moment.

“Given your birth, although not officially but your blood-line is considered the highest royalty of Vanaheim. Making you and your sisters Princesses. Even if your titles are not that powerful here, still they are known by all and pretty potent. So I fail to see the need to rise higher”

“Some just do not need reasons”

“I do not find that too surprising actually”

“Indeed.” the young woman continued “And why am I in this position? Well, mother was plenty of a low-blow to her father and I am only salt to that wound. Propriety, Aesir traditions and his stance in court is what is most important to grandfather. And I... I was always too different for my own good. They did not hate me for it but I was and still am a nuisance. Always the black sheep of the herd or the white crow of the flock... Pushing me into marrying his chosen groom – that way he believes that he shall give me to be molded into a proper creature, a Lady of the court, and a dutiful wife. I wish for none of that, neither of those criteria interest me”    

“Why have you not chosen to live with your mother? If you don’t mind me asking”

Melancholy written testament reflected in Sigyn’s eyes.

“...I couldn’t... Don’t misunderstand me, it’s not like I didn’t want to. Travelling with her would have been perfect for me. My ability to walk from realm to realm – I have most possibly inherited it from her. It’s not the same but it’s fundamentally similar. She can get lost in the wind and be carried through worlds like a Valkyrie, while I can simply walk from one to the other... Well, even _they_ were never taken together with mother...”

“They?” the male repeated in question, he had an idea of whom she might be talking about but it was better if she confirmed it.

“The treasured ones – Hnossa and Gersemi, my half-sisters. The daughters of Ódr. I haven’t ever seen them but I somehow know that I would recognize them... I do not know where they are either, only that they _are..._ ”

There was a miniscule tint of loathing in her words.

“When we were little, before Syn was born, mom was the world and we were hers. She was nothing if not the epitome of what a mother should be. I felt as if we were the most valuable of beings in her existence. I remember the way she would look at me and not even a shadow of doubt had crossed my mind about her position in my life. And then suddenly things changed, I had barely learned to read when it happened. I didn’t know why but mother suddenly left, she abandoned us all seemingly out of the blue. The three of us were left with her father, Nanna was barely an infant then. I had pestered grandfather, our caretaker, until he had finally given me an explanation. According to him mother was broken, he had said that she was damaged in the head. Perhaps we’re both insane, for neither I nor she think even remotely as others do... As a child I could hear the cold anger in his voice as he told me that. And I can’t say that I disagree with him, with time I came to the same conclusion. Mom did come back but it was never quite the same, and that’s probably just the feeling of betrayal that lingers in my subconscious speaking. She would return and then disappear again. When I was still a babe, a bit older than Syn is now, I had pleaded mother to take me with her, alas it would always end in the same way. She wouldn’t answer to my pleas, it was as if she never heard them, she would just note on how lovely a day it was or how a pretty bird was chirping so pleasantly. I soon quit the begging for it was of no use”

Loki refilled the female’s glass and his own as well, which was long since emptied. The Lady continued her tale.

“I had caught wind (and it was not easy) of why she would leave so unexpectedly. So I had prodded grandfather to tell me about Ódr. He wasn’t clear on it, giving only a vague answer to me. His words were that both he and she are insane. Later on I learned the story, not from our caretaker of course. When mother leaves she searches for the love of her life, blindly and without a different thought in her mind. He had disappeared once just like she – without a word or explanation. He roams the realms desperately searching for something that is lost and no longer there. And in my opinion whatever it is, it was never there to begin with. How he travels is unknown but he appears like a shade here and there, sightings of him told in various corners of Yggdrasill. They both run after something unattainable. It is as if he is under a spell, completely and utterly oblivious of everything. And to everyone Ódr is considered dead. I myself don’t really know what to think of it, for he is just like a ghost. He’s never seen eating or sleeping just wandering aimlessly. But then again in the times she follows, she’s the same. So perhaps in a sense he doesn’t exist the same way you and I do, and mother doesn’t exist in the conventional sense either in the eclipses of her psyche. How melodramatic and ironic though, the Goddess of Love – Freya – cannot have the love she bestows to others...”

And the Goddess had said that her blood-stories would not interest him. Just because it was her – made it interesting, but what she told him now, this tale was intriguing and mysterious.

“She had married him, the father of my two half-sisters, but due to his state it is considered to be void” the young Vanir took a sip of her wine “After her first strange disappearance she had met my father and married him. He did not care that she could never love him as much as she did Ódr. And up to this day, even after everything she’s done, my parents are still officially married to each other. Father knows that her reasoning behind the union was his riches, for second to the missing man she has an undying liking for gold. While she is wife of King Iwaldi, she is not considered the Queen of his kingdom. My father is not stupid, so he had never gifted her his ruled lands or his treasury. With someone as unpredictable as her – that would end in a catastrophe. He is wise therefore despite his utter devotion and adoration, he is a great King and his people stand above his selfish needs. He had never gone after her when she chose to leave, for even temporarily abandoning his kingdom would be more than unwise”

There was a pause before the girl continued.

“None of us were born in Svartalfheim. I am the only one to whom mother gave birth in Vanaheim. Lofn, Nanna and Syn – all in Asgard. Except for the youngest, we had all visited our father’s homeland. I was little but I remember well how much he loved and loves us. He is not a greedy man though, therefore he never counted us into his treasury, we were not considered his crown jewels - the kind to be locked away in his castle. Given what he feels for us, you could ask why am I not with him. Well, we were left with our grandfather and when I started travelling I could have gone straight to father, he wouldn’t have minded not then and not now. But I know, were the one we were entrusted to find it out, he would find a way to convince my father to return me back to him. Therefore Iwaldi’s fortress cannot be my refugee for long”

Loki was reluctant to ask, lest he were to insult the young woman. The question was gnawing at his brain though.      

“Is... Is the story about Freya and the four Dwarf blacksmiths true?” the God of Mischief wisely referred to the Love Goddess not by the title that represented her ties with Sigyn. He quickly raised his hands palms up in a gesture of defense “I do not mean anything by it, I am merely curious”

“I am not my mother, therefore I don’t see how the question could be insulting to me. Believing that I am like her would be stupid and I don’t think that you are an idiot” the girl-woman’s tone was biting and serious. The sorcerer agreed with her, he was not insinuating anything of the sort. “And yes, it is true. She did sleep with them for a fucking necklace. Her love for jewelry is unmeasured and nothing could ever stop her from attaining that which she desires. As you probably know, she saw them making Brisingamen and found it beautiful without compare and the smiths found her to be the same in that sentiment. Since Svartalfheim does not lack gold or silver and any valuables of the sort, the Dwarves refused to sell it. The named price was her body. So she laid with all four of them, _at the same time_ ” the girl’s face turned into a grimace of disgust, the male did not show it but he felt the same emotion. Unfortunately he had a wild imagination.

“It is an infamous tale but always represented as gossip. Therefore I had wondered whether it was just the court women vilifying. Lord Njord was probably enraged once he learned of it”

“Oh he was, I have no doubt about that. I am always wary of grandfather when he is in one of those moods, news of her more often than not pushes him into such stormy reactions” the Lie God noticed that the lady had ceased referring to her mother with any adoring names, her voice was not judgmental but it was laced with icy indifference “But all that for a necklace, no matter how pretty a thing is, I can’t understand how much self-respect must you lack to go with such a ‘payment’. I’ve seen the Dverger accessory myself, it isn’t anything all that special really. Just a locket with a huge diamond from the mines of Svartalfheim, with four braided bands of gold leading to it from the thick braid of the necklace. Then again Freya does have a strange liking to things out of the norm, I think I’ve gotten the fancy for unique things from her (although mine is in reverse). Pitiful thing being she quickly grew tired of it and while she didn’t cast it or gave it away, she doesn’t wear it that often anymore”

For a moment the female ceased talking and she hugged her legs to herself, gazing into the distance.

“To me this story connects with a sad reality” the Vanir released a mournful breath from the clasp of her lungs.

The male’s ears perked. He had summarized that she did not care for the business of her parent with a preceding foul-reputation. Right now the Lady didn’t sound so apathetic though.

“The ‘event’ had taken place after her union with my father. Unfortunately it was not the last time the _Love_ Goddess was unfaithful. And father is not deaf nor a fool, therefore he had heard of this scandalous behavior of his wife, still while angered he never held any grudges against her. The four men of his kin were not sought out or punished in any way. As much as I understand, those Dwarves are not King Iwaldi’s subjects, not part of his kingdom. Since he is widely respected in his lands and Freya known as his, none would dare insult their King in such a way... Anyway, my father always forgives his beloved. Syn’s conception is proof of that. He’s so kind and he loves her unconditionally... When I was little I’ve frequently shed tears for him. I’d cried for him on the kitchen floor, sometimes even now... The woman is not deserving of him!” Sigyn’s throat was clogged with tears she refused to shed. Her voice became steely once again swiftly as she said “I could never pardon such a betrayal. Love is irrelevant because I love myself _more_ ”

“Neither could I” the Godling admitted. He was possessive, fervently so and if someone would deliberately double-cross him, he would discard them without a thought. The boy-prince could agree, love was a weakness if it trampled your very beliefs and essence. Forgiveness was foolishness and it seemed that Iwaldi was a fool when it came to his loose wife.

Cheery aura returned and she questioned.

“So... What about your family? Forgive me my rudeness but you don’t seem to be very close with them”

Loki refused the urge to snort, truth in many instances could be insulting or hurtful, but this was not the case. The Goddess shared information about her family without reserve (and uncovered many a fact about herself in the process, much to his appreciation), his relation with his own family was no secret. The Lie God could disclose such without fear, he had told her things that were much more hazardous to his position. And it wouldn’t be the last he did so.

“That is correct” the boy-prince said as he looked away “There are a few reasons for thus. One being my stark difference that alienated me from them. In my father’s eyes I could never compare to Thor. And the Aesir consider me to be an unworthy Heir. I never excelled in the qualities considered necessary for one of my status. In the understanding of my people I am viewed as the coward Prince, a magic user cannot be a great warrior”

“That’s not so”

“While that may be true, our opinions are irrelevant when it comes to hard-wired tradition”

“I think that the Asgardians fear you”

“Oh?” her words piqued the young man’s interest.

“I mean you are the untitled God of Magic. Your power is potent and they can’t comprehend it. It is what makes you dangerous and unpredictable to them”

The girl stroked his vanity. A Master Magician he was, but to be called a God of it was... empowering, and he liked it.

“Another reason for my strained relationship with my kin being my upbringing. We are the royalty of Asgard, both me and my brother were raised to be able to deal with our troubles on our own. Dependence is weakness, therefore our parents were never really close to us. Odin not a _father_ to us but always the _Allfather_. He was strict in his teaching, unmerciful in his punishments and prideful in the achievements of his children – all in order to raise the perfect successor of his Throne. I may sound ungrateful, however it is not so. I am very grateful to father for everything. Even if when I was a childe I wished for him to be more a good father to me then the greatest Ruler. Younglings are greedy although they can be aware of why things are the way they are, still it does not change what they desire... Mother was a different matter growing up. She never separated me and Thor, to her we both stood on equal ground and were loved the same. I do not doubt her love, but her position as Queen of the Odinfather always came first. While I could understand his distance from the both of us, I longed for mother to be closer. For everyone Queen Frigga represents the binding of the high family, alas she firstly is the pillar of strength to her husband, not a tourniquet for her children. When I was little I desperately wanted her open affection but she was always compassionate in her own reserved way, so proper. Truly, I was a brat and I would throw tantrums and refuse to function without her beside me. That would of course enact father’s anger and I quickly learned to repress the emotions I showed... In all honesty your traditions concerning that are enviable... Although the dysfunction of your family, your relation with each other (at least it was at some point) a thing to be jealous of. Even as royalty, the Vanir understood ‘family’ much differently than the Aesir. Despite the possibility of thus being used against a Ruler, it is a double-edged blade, for if family is held above all else – rage born from tampering with it would be grand. However that is a very self-destructing ideology, for war is not something that can bring prosperity. And for Asgard, where the people are the fundament of the realm, it is not befitting. Yet for me, the lack of something personally dear (because my people are not that) would lead to disinterest and thus would leave probable destruction in its wake”

“I can understand it and I agree with your thinking. A person void of anything does not have a reason to exist. And it is falsely commonly believed that a man that has lost everything, one that does not have anything to fear for, is the most dangerous. How can it be true? If you fear nothing, then you obviously won’t fear failure of your revenge, therefore you’ll allow mistakes to happen and every plan will burst like a bubble”

The Godling nodded.

“Indeed”

The Vanir Goddess was quick to jump back to the previous topic.

“And what of your brother?”

“Thor... Thor never cared for what others thought of me. Actually, he does not even hear the remarks of others, literally. It can be said directly to him but. he. just. does. not. hear. It is not that my brother ignores, oh no. Anything that fails to be exactly what he wishes for it to be just fails to fixate itself into his brain. Despite anyone’s opinion of me, Thor always held me to be his little brother” The God of Deceit sneered. “The one to be protected from harm and doubted for his abilities, the one to be ridiculed if his friends so wished”

With a silent exhale the male returned to his apathy towards the told.

“And so while to Thor everything is perfectly fine – to me it is the very reason that it is not. He refuses to comprehend anything that is beyond what he believes it to be, therefore he can never understand me. And I have no wish to try and make him see me for what I am. I have long since abandoned such hopes in finding a confidant in him. He is far too straight-laced to be close to me. He thinks that he is, but it is a lie and I god-over them, so I do not do anything that would object his iron conviction”

Both Godlings were lost in thought and after the bottle was emptied Sigyn spoke again.

“We are both lonesome. Solitary when it comes to the ones that should be closest to us. It is so melancholic... I guess being the oddball in your family is not something beneficial, no?”

“Truly, it is not” the male replied.

* * *

 

The interaction continued. Talks about this and that, of nothing and something. It was pleasant to both of the young Gods.

A trinket the mischievous one had left following the Vanir’s sisters told him that they were slowly returning home. He begrudgingly informed the Lady of it. He accompanied her back to the palace and after a short, formality lacking farewell, they parted.

Loki noted that the woman had not gotten tipsy from the drinks they shared. And that was not his intention when he had brought the wine with himself. Perhaps it had loosened her tongue but drunken she was not. The boy-prince liked the fact and thought that it would not be the last they enjoyed fine beverages together.

The Goddess undid her spell of oblivion from her siblings and followed them. The God of Deceit watched her until her sapphire gown draped back disappeared from his sight.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freya does not have children with Iwaldi, that part is Marvel based (as I've mentioned before about Sigyn's family tree).
> 
> In the Norse myths Freya is married to Ódr. He either travels constantly or disappears, it can be interpreted both ways since his wife is brokenhearted every time it happens. Furthermore, there are various meanings to his names (as well as actual connections to Odin) like: divine madness, frantic, frenzied and etc.
> 
> Freya and Ódr have two daughters: Hnossa and Gersemi. I have referred to them as the "treasured ones" because both of their names in old Norse mean "treasure".
> 
> The story concerning Freya and the four Dwarf blacksmiths is an actual myth. For a golden necklace (possibly the Brisingamen – the love goddess’s famous piece of jewelry), which could not be sold due to the plenty of valuables that the Dwarves possessed, she spent a night with each of them (that was changed in my fic for the impact). However no further connection to the legend is made because it cannot coexist in the universe of my fic. In the original tale Odin comes to know of this (Freya is supposedly a mistress of the Aesir king) and so orders Loki to steal the piece of jewelry from Freya.


	7. Contract

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The formation of this chapter is slightly different than usual. The beginning covers short happenings that occurred until this segment takes place.

**Chapter seven**

**_Contract_ **

 

 

Time had went on and their meetings rose in their frequency. Both delighted at the fact. Sigyn was eager to see Loki and she did not hide the emotion of expectation that appeased his self-loving greatly.

They had conversed and debated about things of universal magnitude as well as such of insignificant nature. They had discussed the origin of chaos and existence, fate and the unknown, their travels, enchantments and various trivia. They had shared drinks and meals together. He had seen her in Asgard as well as paid visits to her in Noatun, when Njord was away. They had watched sunrises and sunsets, talked about the bright constellations of stars above in the night sky. She had attempted to explain to the Godling what it felt like to touch the heavens while grounded and he had told her of what it was to change into a bird and fly through the clouds.

A week, a month had passed and the Prince had become the Goddess’s closest confidante. She could disclose many a thing to her baby-sister Syn but not as much as the Lady had willingly given away to the young Heir. The girl had become the same to him, and when she’d said that, she had defended herself by saying that he probably had friends outside the high-society circle of the Realm Eternal, who might be his other confidantes. The male had not confirmed nor denied the claim, for he did have acquaintances – but their ties were purely business related. She did not need to know how much she meant for him... yet.

He had been bestowed with knowledge of small details about her. The man had learned that the young woman liked bright colors, green being on the list, and that she did not appreciate the color red. He inwardly had thought that it would suit her nonetheless. When she’d asked him of his preferences he had replied it to be green and possibly black. At that she had laughed and said that it did not come as a surprise.

The boy-prince had found out that she did not really fancy flowers, her favorite being the Death Flower. Once questioned as to why the one she had in her possession did not resemble the ones he’d seen in forbidden books, the reply had been that it chose to hide itself for convenience sake. Ordinarily it was much bigger, similar to lilies. And when you held it in your hands you could somehow experience its potent aura of decay. The black, burgundy-tipped bloom fascinated the female. He drank in every second when she displayed her deep wonderment at something. The Vanir’s happiness was novel to him.

She had told him how much she admired his abilities and how enchantments intrigued her so. Therefore the Master of the admired element had begun teaching her magic. Sigyn made a great student and she was adept in spells. Alas she could at times strangely have a hard time with the most novice of skill requiring ones. To himself, the God of Mischief had explained it as the cause of her otherworldly and foreign essence. He could see the shimmer of gratitude whenever he had taught her something. The reason behind it, she’d uttered quietly, was that she’d never had a teacher. He understood it as joy for being gifted serious attention, which the Lady had not experienced prior.

Touch was no longer reserved between the two Godlings. She trusted him enough and did not shy away from dragging him by his wrist and such minimal contact, which previously had been startling and viewed with a narrowed gaze from her. The girl had laughed and joked, her utter lack of respect to her superiors and peers would easily manage to relax him. The thoughts of the God of Lies were concealed – hers were spilled openly, and both of their minds were often in tune when the subject touched others.

When pressed enough, the woman had begrudgingly admitted that she did like jewelry, a lot. She probably found it to be shameful, knowing her mother’s relation to valuables. However the Dark Prince thought no less of her for it. The Vanir viewed gold with a minor discontent and whether it was because of Freya’s vast love for it or just preference – he did not know. Silver was liked most. And so the male had asked about the dagger, which he had returned as well as her bag, and whether it was from her father. She’d confirmed his suspicion. Telling that when a long time ago Iwaldi had asked his children what would they like to be brought as gifts from his kingdom, her request of a weapon, so different then various accessories her sisters asked for, was not minded at all. Her father had crafted the silver dagger himself and smiled lovingly at his glee-bouncing daughter. She had remarked that she missed her father very much.

With the disability to look at the Golden Throne Heir, embarrassed she had told more about the trinkets she liked. Unlike her infamous mother, the female did not fancy simple jewelry. Intricate and far too over-the-top for most women – that she loved best. The blushing young woman did possess a streak of vanity it seemed. Oh, Loki did not find that trait repulsing, not at all – quite the opposite. He would indulge into showering her with anything she desired. Every narcissus and every mirror that she wanted, the second-born Prince wouldn’t deny her anything. But what attracted the Vanir most were unique and rare things. It was not a conscious thing, she had said, but she was instantly drawn to any objects that befell that category. The Lie God had stored the information within the sturdiest trunks that lied in the crevices of his brain. Not like he could possibly forget anything about his perfect companion but he still took great care to engrave what she preferred into his psyche.            

Their interactions had led to the contemplation of Svartalfheim yet again. Since the lady had not been there in many, many years, he had told her about the world and had allowed her to discover it through his gaze yet again. The God had visited it together with his brother and father as well as on his own. Through his readings of forbidden books he had come to the knowledge about the meaning behind the realm’s name. As it was Svartalfheim, the calling originated from ‘Svart Alf’ – ‘Dark Elf’. And it was not referring to the Dwarfs that inhabited the lands now. The written primary race as opposed to the ‘Light Elves’ were not existent to this day. What happened to it was a mystery and neither books nor ancient scrolls told of it. Yet it was known that no Elven from that heim were present in Valhalla or Folkvangr. The girl had also noted that none of that kin were dwelling in the Unnamed Realms as well (at least to her knowledge). And their conversation had ended in question: what had happened to the Dark Elves, perhaps they were still roaming in the shadows of Svartalfheim...

The male had talked about the Dverger built castles, mines and dungeons. Strange that near-root place of the world tree was, only it and Alfheim did not have a sole Leader or King (with the addition of the primal element worlds). Just those two realms were divided in kingdoms. He had never been to her father’s ruled portion. With an infectious chuckle Sigyn had told that when she will go to Iwaldi, she will take him with her. The God of Deceit had taken it for a promise rather than an offhanded comment.

Another thing the enchanting one liked were skin markings. Whether etched in ink or given by birth she did not care. The Goddess found beings with patterns on their flesh to be quite a sight to behold. At his inquiry ‘is it worth it?’ the female had replied that she did not fear needles and the pain would be miniscule compared to having eternal art on oneself. Then the man’s brain had gotten an itch, a pestering visage that had refused not go away. And he had soon given up on fighting battles against it. So he’d immersed himself in the mental illusion. The want to possess that came with it had been intoxicating and he hadn’t attempted resisting getting high off of it. The young woman’s image in his head had had his name engraved on her skin. There was something morbid about the fact that he would enjoy the fleeting momentary pain, which would overtake her once the marking would be in the making. Inked, burned, cut – the Heir hadn’t cared which, all he wanted was ‘Loki’ written on her. Truly shiver inducing.

As they had grown closer the male had offered topics with more personal meaning. He had asked her what would she do if she were the Queen of Yggdrasill. There had not been any hinting in that question. The young man had also avoided the word ‘Universe’, for even in their divine position, it was far beyond anyone’s comprehension. The answer had been honest. The Lady had said that she was not fit to rule over such grand grounds. While one could even theoretically claim what they would do to end all feud and bring peace – she could not lie to herself so openly. And it was not because there was no solution to the problems or because what was right to one was wrong to others. The Vanir had told that would she have such power and wisdom to rule justly, it would be against her very nature. Being a Queen would demand at least her mind to linger in one place – and that she simply could not do. She’d admitted without reserve that she was selfish and her attention could not be kept over anything for long. Her duties would be abandoned and she would disappear to tend to her own business, which mainly consisted of travelling. And as Sigyn travelled her conscious was void of anything but her current goal. Such ruling would quickly lead to a catastrophe. The Goddess had claimed that she was mad at times and she would in such a case unknowingly allow or even unleash great horror. With a sigh had come the words that given such responsibility she would be meant to self-destruct. It was already obvious that when she was away her mind was out of reach and her dearest ones were not just shoved into the background, they simply ceased to exist to her. When she was so transfixed with something, her most precious ones who cannot hold her close to them – could perish, and she would realize it only later. Therefore it was a haunting idea – such huge responsibility, to someone at times as blindly ‘selfish’ as her.        

With well-deserved mulling of the things the girl-woman said he’d found it familiar to him in a sense. Usually he was very level-headed, even cold in his rationality. Priding himself to be a great strategic, alas at times the boy-prince would slip from the self-enacted pedestal. While his emotions where few – they ran deep. And when red-hot rage engulfed him, his carefully inlaid plans would come to have holes in them. Such obvious loopholes in his plots would most assuredly lead into being found out as the culprit. Then the dreaded punishment would inevitably be brought onto him... So he could relate to her opinion on the topic. Still he was a greedy man and when emotions from his repertoire (mostly tilted as anger), arisen because of various reasons, would steal his ingenious mind of its potent proprieties, he wished for power that was without compare. In those seldom moments he wanted to rule and god-over everything – because the need of recognition, respect and acceptance was suffocating. Then the Godling would be plagued by thoughts that he should attain that which he needed, by any means necessary...

* * *

 

As the two young beings had become roped with one another tighter and tighter, the female had said fateful words on one sunny day in Asgard. Their meetings were always held away from any prying eyes, reason why they had been by the secluded crystalline lake. The girl-woman had taken his hand and entwined her lithe fingers with his, as her toes splashed in the clear water. It was not strange that gesture, for soon she had grown accustomed to his presence. So he’d continued sitting on the bank of the luminescent water-body, beside her. His gaze had been cast-off and reaching somewhere beyond the majestic waterfall. Hers had also been away from them both.

Sigyn had whispered and the voiced aloud things pierced him straight through his heart. Loki had believed that it was steeled and hardened by his turbulent life but oh, how wrong had he been. The quiet utterings about how she would not mind dying for his plans together with him. Not the kind of end where she’d wound up in her beloved place, but one dark and restless. And such a thought coming from a deathless one had been more than he could have put into words. She hadn’t meant that she would be content with being left as a scapegoat or sacrificed for his goals, no she had referred to battling beside him for his beliefs.

His stolen hand had been released and hers plopped back heavily into her lap. The lady hadn’t looked at him, she had probably been berating herself for disclosing such vulnerable details of just how much she respected him. It could lead to her perish, were he to misinterpret her foolishly spoken truth and abuse it. The emeralds of the God of Trickery could not have been be torn away from her form that moment. He had been rendered speechless. It hadn’t been all however, finality was brought with a sentence she had whispered _‘Then I would say without regret – If I go, I’ll die happy tonight’_.

Without unrequired denial the Godling had admitted to himself that he was despicably selfish. Where such a scenario ever play out (and he did not want it to ever be so), no matter the kind of alliance she would forge with him, he would not want her to go on without him. He was truly selfish when he wanted to be. Even in his deathbed the Heir would not say the romanticized phrase ‘go on without me’, for that would be a lie he could not afford to make. The Goddess had the ability to transcend boundaries of worlds and she could deny the boundary of the end as well. How horrible it was that he would take her down with him, to death and beyond...  

The silence had been deafening, all sound of nature had been nonexistent to the male. At that moment there had not been anything else but her and his collapsing world. Eternities later it seemed, the young man had retrieved the dainty, small hand into his own. As the Vanir had turned back to meet his eyes, they were no longer upon her form. His thumb had stroked her smooth and pale flesh, he’d uttered a ‘thank you’ and it hadn’t been a lie. What an oxymoron – an honest God of Lies. But then the prince knew and he would never let go of this treasure. The clasped hands had stayed between their persons, the girl had continued soaking her feet in the lukewarm waters. Nothing else had been said for that day, only the contact had been maintained and neither had dared to break it...

* * *

 

Four weeks had been left until the unwanted date. That crisp morning had counted twenty eight days remaining and the God of Deceit had brought the Goddess a gift that day. Such familiarity did not demand a proper greeting, so he had instantly extended a hand with feigned disinterest, on the fingers of which a necklace dangled. ‘For you’ – it had rung apathetically.

Blue-green eyes had sparkled in astonishment, the female had asked what it was. It was an intricately cut stone, a green-hued crystal, swaying on a long and thick string. The pendant swung heavily, large it was, expensive it seemed. The male had replied that it was a very rare stone, the name he uttered was from a believed-to-be-long-dead tongue. The girl had touched it hesitantly, mesmerized by the accessory, but still she hadn’t taken it from him. Therefore the Godling had continued with his explanation of how it had come to his possession.

It was something crafted by his silver tongue and there hadn’t been an indicator of doubt in her once she had heard it. But it was not wholly a lie, just a slight mistruth. He’d said that he had been very recently doing some business, he’d been away to get something he required for a brewing. The merchant had offered this item for a trade as well, and while the Master Magician did not need it (for he’d bargained solely for a different item), he had taken it as well. When he had seen the necklace, he’d remembered her love for unique things and this was something from that category. A valuable gem with great power to boost, so the Lie God had thought that she would appreciate it and could find uses for the pendant.

In reality he had been browsing the phantom markets, but getting the ingredient he’d claimed to have planned on acquiring hadn’t been his primal priority (he had plenty in stock, still having one more would not hurt – he’d thought). When the sorcerer had laid eyes on the piece of jewelry, it had spoken tomes to him about how it was _meant_ to be around Sigyn’s neck. The young God hadn’t resisted the temptation to buy it for her and the timid way she had taken it from him, the pure gratitude she’d whispered in just two words – had been well worth it.

This would be the very first of his many presents to her – the voices in his head had been confident about that. And the small kiss on his cheek had been indescribable, although he had been already more than interested in _forever_ , the gesture had solidified the desire more than tenfold. With a childish giggle she had remarked once again that his skin was cold. She did not find it repulsive in any way though.

* * *

 

Try as he might, the God of Mischief had not managed to bore his companion in the slightest. Due to his trickster nature he had attempted it, alas fruitlessly. Whatever he’d said was received well, no trivia had made her yawn. The lady cared for everything he said, all shimmering eyes and adoringly shaped ‘o’ of her mouth. It was bizarre to have someone so enchanted by his tellings. Complaints had been taken into consideration, sometimes with offered advices if the she had any. It was amazing how easily he could catch her interest. A shushed voice had offered as fact that she would not grow tired of his worthless stories even given centuries.

Each day gone by and each time Loki had questioned whether his judgment had deceived him. The negatives concerning the lingering question had pressured him, but as they had mounted so did the sureness that indeed he’d been correct. He had realized that whatever that was going between them was not one-sided. The boy-prince had become more to the Lady than a friend, a trustee. He was immeasurably glad that things were coursing by the path he had so carefully dug. There had been glances and touches unneeded in essence, then swiftly denied with an inward reprimand on her side for acting so thoughtlessly.

But she was reluctant, he could see that. It was so because the Vanir female was wary of letting someone get so close to her. And she was not the type to put everything on the card, she did not know but the God of Deceit was also the same. Neither would bet something precious if there was even a miniscule chance of losing it. The male had understood that it was not his ill reputation that had brought on this reaction. A fraction of his brain had told him that he’d been the first to stand beside her in such proximity. The Trickster God had logically countered it with not veiled dissatisfaction that he probably was not the only to get this close physically to the Goddess. However more happily he had stated to himself that there definitely was no other that had come to learn and embrace her mentality as much as he did.

* * *

 

Three weeks until the arranged betrothal – such a short time and there was so much that had yet to go as planned. The green-garbed Prince for once not dressed in his signature color, now all in black, found the young woman on Vanaheim.

First in what he believed to be a long time for her, she had finally caved in against her untamable desire. She had said that nothing could hold her in one place for long, the man did not doubt that statement, but now he was sure of it. The fear of punishment was tossed away because she needed _out_. The girl had expressed her metaphorical sense of dying when being locked away for so long in Realm Eternal.                                  

She stood with her back to him, unaware of his unscheduled arrival, studying a patch of vividly purple-pink lichen on a large tree.

A trick would be played where it was due, a toothy grin refusing to be removed stuck to the young God’s face. He crept close to the one who was too interested in the bark of the giant to notice anything amiss.

“And what do we have here?” came the purring, sing-song inquiry from the looming man.

“Loki!” with a flinch she turned, however it quickly melted away because his voice was now gravely familiar.

Sigyn looked over the wicked Heir, who had interrupted her and made entertainment for himself with visible glee. All that at her expense, _how rude_ and she was the one who rained disrespect left and right without mercy. The Lady smiled back at the one who had managed to find her out.

“Grown bored of Noatun so soon? How unfortunate and I was not even informed of it” the Godling dragged out the words, clearly satisfied with her reactions.

“Ha ha ha, very funny” sarcasm dripped like venom from her pale green-blue painted lips.

“I aim to please” was the witty reply.

The girl gazed away and traced the bark of the very tree she had been so intently examining before. The oddly colored lichen was trying to escape her touch. She sounded distant.

“I couldn’t take it any longer, I had to run away at least for a short while”

“Why does that not surprise me” it was not a question and she offered no retort to his jesting tone.

Mischievous emerald eyes raked down her form. The young woman had her hair in the same ponytail she had when he first saw her. Although this time it was not fastened with a clasp, only held by a pale orchid. She was barefoot. The dress the female wore had a high collar but it was compensated by the cut below. The rectangle shape in the front and back allowed plenty of view of her shapely legs, especially when looking from the side. The gown was turquoise with green embroidery, it seemed to be of heavy fabric. The only accessory she had adorned herself with was the pendant he had given her. Still on the same rustic string, no moderations were made. The Trickster God complimented his own taste for the Goddess had taken a liking to the unique trinket.

“You look very beautiful today” non-serious flirt laced his voice.

“And you came all the way to tell me that?” playfully she said, hands on hips and smoky eyes with heavy make-up were glinting like gems in the dark “Tell me something that my mirror does not tell me”

He took it as a challenge.

“Do I need a reason to pay you a visit? I do not think that your mirror tells you that the Prince of Asgard appreciates your garb”

“Perhaps you do not” a smile “No, my mirror does not tell me that”

“Ah, as I have expected. Care to take a seat?” the boy-prince offered, although there were no chairs present in the wilderness of Vanaheim.

At his or hers wish (it did not matter which) two lounges of moss sprouted from the ground some distance from them.

Sigyn walked towards them without a say and Loki followed without complaint.

The two got comfortable in the impromptu luxury the bizarre land had provided. They conversed about a wide array of topics, which was just like every time they met.

* * *

 

Some hours later (neither kept the time) the Lie God had managed to slowly turn the conversation the way he wanted. He was hopeful, scared even. For it was the everything or nothing moment. The risk was necessary. Not that she was aware of it, but he would aid her as agreed despite what route today would take.

The topic was light and about relationships or something of the sort. It was a first to the Godling that he could not even remember what they discussed only seconds ago. All that there was, was her twinkling laughter, alas his rationale did not allow him to bathe in the glorious sound.

“What would one require if they would wish to possess you then?” his tone was serious, although all the inner hurricanes were concealed. But the tenseness in his jaw betrayed him, however it slipped undetected.

The Vanir was brutally shoved off of her track. Her orbs wide and he could have sworn that they were indecisive in their coloration. Disbelief won and so whatever she had presumed was rejected, so her jolliness and carelessness returned.

“Oh that’s something I haven’t really considered and due to the impossibility of it, there’s no use theorizing on it. I doubt that it would interest you anyway”

“But it does” he corrected her claim. If further elaboration was needed, so be it “What would be the terms if _I_ were to own _you_?” what’s said is said and so only waiting for the garnered reaction remained.

There was a tilt of his head and the bewitching emerald eyes burned with a sinister flame. The pair covered in long dark lashes at that very moment appeared to the girl to be very similar to how at times the eyes of her brethren shone. The way the green light touched his cheeks, truly not anything like those of Aesir.

The woman was startled and then she slunk into the world of her inner psyche. She was quiet, the grains of time fell and the young man forgot what was it like to breathe. His lungs seared in pain, wallowing in their echoing complaints and pleas for air. Silence was accursed, it led to far too many variations of the truth that would come to stalk you with all its eeriness. For Loki it was one of those counted moments in his life where eternity was damned, and it was the longest and not anticipated damnation ever.

Sigyn spoke steadily, her face turned away from to him. For all the seriousness her tone held, the words represented her very nature – contradictory playful and reasoned.

“Well I’m not someone that will easily be called as someone’s owned. There are many... unconventional conditions one must abide if they wish to get near me”

“And those would be...? Do tell” he was beginning to fall into a rhythm. She answered and that implied _something_. A voice told him that this would bode well.

He noticed her deep inhales and exhales.

“Ummm well, firstly I’m not someone that can actually be ‘owned’ in what the term would mean in the current understanding” the girl-woman explained “I’m not a ‘something’ and I’ll never forsake my freedom despite the offer”

“That much is obvious, do go on” the male interjected.

“I am not a trinket to be hauled about and showed off like a fine prize or a valuable belonging. If I’ve understood your question correctly, then I should also mention that I’m not wife-material, I will not be reduced to a shackled housewife to do whatever that is required of one to do”

The Heir nodded, no vocal expression of thought was necessary, because the female was watching him from the corner of her eye.

“I will not heed commands and I will not be ‘showed my place’. Nor will I be pushed onto my knees to fearfully ask for mercy or for anything else” it was nothing but a snarl and the more she told, the more the Dark Prince smirked. He had understood the implications her last remark held and it was not in conflict of what he expected from the Lady. In all actuality everything she voiced was matching what he believed and _wanted_ that she would say.

“And?” the God of Deceit could not cease egging her on, he was having fun.

The pressing man had gotten closer to Sigyn. She did not notice it until he was already looming over the edge of his lounge, leaning towards her. Probably in her heated tirades about the important things he had inquired about, the girl had missed the movement. Unconsciously she slinked away.

“A-and... And I’ll not be used to producing heirs”

The Goddess fell back into her contemplations and she even stood with the intention to pace about. Loki followed suite.

“Understood” when the sound reached her not from the moss seat as she had expected, her gaze was instantly drawn to her companion.

“I’ll leave to venture through the Yggdrasill whenever I please. I think of it as my purpose and I will not be denied of it”

“Mhm, what else?” the Princeling took a step towards her, she took a step back.

“I-I am my own person, therefore I will say and do what I want”

“Accepted” he slowly kept advancing and she kept evading.

“The terms are not something to just be accepted as if one is simply aware of them. They have to be agreed upon and heeded”

“Then agreed. What more is there?” the approaching one corrected himself. With each condition she stated his grin got wider and wider.

The Goddess was backed into a tree, the very same one she had been so keen on studying earlier. The male could see the way her expression melted into unexpectedness as her hands helplessly splayed themselves on the bark. She wore a leveled façade, one that was meant to show her fierceness. However the God could see through it: the anxiety she experienced and how conflicted she was. He could even _feel_ her delicious, fast heartbeat. The way the woman stared him down likened him to a wild and untamed animal, one that could not be trusted for what his following actions would be. Now that will not do, the Trickster thought to himself.

She was trapped between the tree and the Lie God who was casually leaning on one hand, which was rested just slightly above her head. He was looking at her and grinning, while the petite female stared back straight into him with defiance. With difficulty the boy-prince suppressed a pleasant shudder – her eyes were mesmerizing him. Shinning like a true Vanir’s, dusting the tips of her cheeks in their blue-green glow. The image was stunning, the young woman illuminated by the suns of Vanaheim. It was just moments before the actual sunset, an hour or less remained until all would be painted in red by the three stars the realm turned about.

“Yes, there is something else” the Lady said.

He arched an eyebrow in anticipation. Sigyn grasped the lapels of his ebony coat with one hand and forcefully tugged him down to her eye-level. Loki did not resist it, he just smirked at the rough treatment – he was enjoying it.

“You will own me only if I’ll own you, _completely_.” the words lost the volume of the previous answers, the uttered sentence was imposing – it was practically hissed. The God of Lies simply loved those narrowed eyes and he did not doubt that she was not jesting. Furthermore, he noted how from ‘someone’ it turned into him, she was dead serious. “I want you solely for myself. And I _don’t_ share. Want me? Become mine then.” her hold tightened on the Godling’s long jacket “I will not tolerate betrayal nor will I forgive it. Break the agreement and I will find a way to hurt you, don’t underestimate the things that I will do. I am capable of really anything. And I won’t misplace my anger” the threat was not veiled and he did not dare to doubt it. There was nothing to be worried about though, for all those conditions were more than acceptable. He was released but he didn’t strengthen back to full height.

“Agreed” the God of Mischief purred and he was so close that their noses were nearly touching. “Although, I have a condition myself: I want the same as you do – I am possessive, be just mine and mine alone. And I want eternity and beyond. It is only forever, not long at all...”

She replied quietly.

“Agreed”

“And so if that is all, do we have a deal?”

The girl’s answer did not come instantly but the young Prince was patient, he could wait. She met his gaze steadily.

“...Yes”

“Then let us seal the deal – lips to lips”

No objection was uttered. He captured her mouth with his own in a heated kiss. Everything ceased to exist, time was absent and it stopped coursing completely. The male did not expect such passion and raw hunger to be present in their first kiss. Her tongue was shoved into his compliant maw. The young man did not mind her dominance. He was submerged in pleasure that did not compare to anything. All he could taste was purely _Sigyn_. There was no one else at the moment, no Gods, no beings, the World Tree and everything over it – simply melted away.

He heard a loud beat and he did not know whether it was his own heartbeat or hers, but the sound was not singular, it was synchronized. He felt something that was uniquely Vanaheim and it was not the lands that he meant. The Vanir female represented it more than anything or anyone ever would. And at that moment he believed that it was the rhythm of the realm that drowned them both.

He broke the contact and stood back to his full height. His breathing was heavy, eyes closed as reality slowly swam back into his senses. The woman’s labored exhales were scalding his chest, where it was not covered by clothing.

The kiss was so overpowering that only minutes later did she notice that her wrists were pinned above her head by his hand. The Goddess ignored it and did not struggle against it. She had a hard time comprehending her surroundings. His cool hand was replaced by something colder and leathery smooth.

There was a wicked idea that had been spawned by his brain and he was not the God of Mischief for nothing. He chose to follow it spontaneously and that was not quite like him. For his plans were always well thought through and he was nit-picking when it came to plotting, never acting recklessly. At this instance the dark one took the chance and did not rationalize about the potent danger. Were this to go awry – he would stop instantly. And so he decided to _play on the words_.

She looked up confused to inspect what held her hands loosely captive. Moving them she checked whether she could slip her wrists from out of it. Frowning the young female saw that it was a silver colored snake. Soon the creature turned metallic and winded tighter.

“Loki?” the girl questioned unsure of what was transpiring.

He did not reply and his fingers were slowly traveling her outstretched arm. While she was puzzled, except for the meek attempt at getting free, there were no signs of fighting back against the strange tie. That was good, the Heir did not wish for her to be frightened because of his doing. The gaze that was showing her disability to understand all of this was directed at him. Simply continuing with the soft touch he offered no explanation. The skin was so delicate and soft, the Godling reveled in the feeling of it. A small quirk of lips remained plastered on his physiognomy.

Now both of his hands were on either side of her, languidly trailing down. The woman was barely touching the ground with her toes, but he was careful to place the binding so that her weight would be leveled and would not strain her form. Not once had he used such enchantments to keep someone in place – but at this very moment it was for different reasons. All the young God wanted was not to bind her but just to keep her leveled, since he would not be able to do so himself. While the spell could rope much stronger beings than his petite Sigyn, he was more than sure that it could handle and minimalize _unconscious_ struggle. The man hoped that it wouldn’t be conscious...

Spidery fingers went lower and lower across the turquoise gown. And then he sensed it, her scared now-deep-blue eyes confirmed it. A speck of fear kept pushing itself towards out from the hidden background to the front in the Vanir’s mind. She was beginning to panic, he knew what suggestions and accusations were running through her head – she was doubting her decision, thinking that the royal Aesir wanted to take something she was not giving. The girl’s legs were shut together but the he was aware that the action was not made by her active mentality, it was done subconsciously. His poor baby, there was no need for the fright. Perhaps the God of Deceit seemed in control – but it was not so, she had all the power to disrupt this whenever she wanted.

“L-Loki?” his name was uttered yet again, although with added urgency. Her tone was desperately demanding for some answer.

The male finished descending to his knees. Slightly damp moss was soft beneath his black breeches. His hands ceased their downward exploration and came to rest on her hips, palms were touching the nude flesh of her thighs. Emerald orbs sought out hers, the pretty face was marred with an expression he never wished to see again. No toothy grin was worn nor a cocky smirk, he smiled slightly and as tenderly as he could, meaning to assure. Hoping that he did not look like a predator. The God of Trickery rubbed soothing circles on one of her thighs, touching slowly and carefully. An explanation was direly required to erase her worries.

“ _Shssssssh_ ” he made a shushing sound “Do not fret, Sigyn. I am only binding the contract – lips to lips”

All of the previous fear was tossed out of the window. And the man saw how embarrassment overtook the Goddess. A shade of rose dusted her cheeks, in turn uplifting the corners of his maw. The wariness of course remained – that was to be expected, but the dread was shocked out of the way. There was something she wanted to say, however she was speechless and her voice seemed to have died in her throat.

The kneeling Godling continued with the caring touches. Waiting for the Lady to adjust to what she had heard, just not too much so that the surely to arise protests would remain buried. The boy-prince ceased the caresses and hooked his fingers onto the strings of her panties, but he did no more. Eyes watchful, ever so watchful for any indicators of that quizzing turning into a negative.

Still at a loss and somehow confused – that was good. The God of Mischief started slowly dragging the undergarment down her tightly closed legs. The female Vanir was struggling with words, which refused to be said aloud. However he felt no strong opposing emotions emanate from her. Easily enough he had the shiny silver garment in his hands. Loki placed it into the pocket of his coat, for momentary safekeeping.

He continued caressing the naked flesh of her shapely legs. The God of Lies was patient and sooner than he expected, the tenseness of her muscles relaxed on their own volition. It seemed that the woman’s body was reveling in his loving touch, though her mind was not – he would have to convince it otherwise.

The male took hold of the fabric and it was lighter than it looked. It was cast behind the tree and the front material fell onto the tail of the metal serpent. His hands would be busy, so the dress had to be removed from the way. Green eyes closed on their own and he pressed an openmouthed kiss to the apex of her thighs. The skin was smooth just like the rest of her he’d touched. A startled squeak escaped the confines of the Lady’s throat. The tied girl started shivering, the man’s fingers were attempting to assure (he was not aware whether it was necessary) that everything would be fine.

The second-born Prince released the contact, bringing his tongue a couple of times over the flesh he wanted to torture sweetly. If her form would move involuntarily his hands stationed themselves more firmly on her hips. Few more slow drags and he couldn’t contain the wish to explore her core. His tongue elongated itself becoming serpentine like. Just in case she was not ready, he willed his wet appendage to become thinner. The least of what he wanted was to harm her – that was a dreadful thought.

The young man’s tongue snaked inside. A less than enthusiastic and louder than the previous sound left her. That was a mistake – he was too eager. Ever so slowly it extended. He did not manage to push far because a resistance was met. The Godling squealed internally with delight, now he knew that no one had been with her. A traitorous voice whispered that he would be the one to break the barrier.

Then there was regret, he shouldn’t have been so hasty. The male decided to not continue with this. The tip of the muscle slightly traced her hymen. The tremors weren’t ceasing, he was trying to absorb them with his hands. It would be worse if a jerky movement would hurt her. Curling his serpentine tongue he began retracting it from her insides. He arched it because he wanted to get as much of the taste as possible. The Heir was enjoying this far more than he had anticipated.

When it was removed a quiet breath of relief touched his hearing. He really _had_ caused her great discomfort with the rough penetration of her core. That – he had not meant to do. However he was glad that he had chosen to alter his tongue, it would have been even more painful to her if he wouldn’t have done it. He bit the inside of his cheek, he never wanted to be the cause of pain to the Vanir girl. But he would when... The God shivered himself – stop thinking about that!

He needed to repent and so two long apologetic licks were given. The Lady’s breathing was escalating. Not one to doubt himself, though right now he was nervous. The mischievous God had the knowledge that he could bring her pleasure without treading into her inside, but the irrational thoughts were hard to get rid of.

The Lie God simply loved the peeking flesh and how when his lips graced it more of those adorable squeaks were audible. The female failed to suppress the near-silent, startled sounds, they were adamant to being heard. And he appreciated that. Those were nothing like loud moans that sounded so fake in his understanding, oh but these gasps were honest and hard to keep-in apparently. So he sucked the flesh vigorously, wanting to garner more of those vocal reactions.

Sigyn was shaking like a leaf. The God of Deceit varied his attentions from licking to sucking. She trembled so much that he was no longer able to completely subdue the wicked shivers. Loki continued loving her and liked doing it, _a lot_. In time the young woman began randomly bucking into his pleasuring mouth, obviously the movements were not authorized. He held tightly as her gasping rose in frequency. With a sound that was something between a squeal and a mewl, which was louder than any others, the Goddess climaxed.

Even a while after the fall the God of Mischief continued lapping with his tongue, not wanting to miss a droplet of the trickling liquid. Once he was sure that he would not, he pressed a butterfly kiss. He was careful not to bother her hypersensitive skin though.

The tail of the snake moved and the man caught the dress. Returning it in its rightful place he waited a couple of minutes before doing anything else. He took out the small garment from his pocket and softly slid it back from where he had removed it. The male rose to his feet, the girl had still not returned from the clouds. She did not resist as he placed his arm beneath her behind and slightly lifted her up. He did not think that her shaking legs would uphold her once the bonds disappeared. With her secured, he called the spell away. Listening to the labored efforts of the Lady’s lungs, he kissed the clothed junction of her shoulder and neck.

He did not shift from his place, completely satisfied with waiting like this and having her scent caress his senses. The Vanir broke the silence, he had not expected that. Then again she was the enigma.

“I should be... angry with you” her tone was breathless.

“But you are not?” smirking, he questioned.

“...No. I don’t know. Slightly”

The prominent blush that refused to leave her face only widened his grin. The female was very, very embarrassed.

“Now are you saying that I failed to make you feel good?” the Godling’s tone was playful and mock sad.

An answer was not given only a harsh glare. After some time she uttered a quiet phrase.

“...Silver Tongue...” the woman refused to meet his gaze and she was red-faced.

Inside he was all laughs.

“Only for you, only for you...” Loki replied.

She wanted to interrogate him on that, to prove false the statement. Alas she was far too exhausted ( _thanks_ to Loki).

The Heir carried Sigyn to the moss lounge. While there was no vocalized sign of her displeasure at being denied the ability to walk, he could feel the growls emanating from her. Although that did not work on him as intended, for the man was only entertained by it. He took a seat on the grass, stretching out and resting his upper body beside the Goddess’s feet.

* * *

 

The rest of the evening had been spent in whispered tales. It was long into the sanguine sunset when it was time to leave.

The God of Deceit was glad that the young woman was here at the moment, for that meant that her grandfather was not present in their dome. So the male could easily transport his lover (he bathed in the glory of the word as the ‘r’ rolled so perfectly off his tongue) straight to her bedroom. Because her knees were still weak, and if the God of Lies was honest with himself, then he took pride in the fact that he managed to cause the weakness. The girl he carried in his hands was the opposite of ‘happy’, but she was not enraged either.

However this was the pleasurable part of his plan, now came the risk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Folkvangr – is a place similar to Valhalla, it is where the other half of the ones that died in battle go. It is overlooked by Freya, although in this fic it is not solely for those who died an honorable death.
> 
> In Loki's mind he promises to give Sigyn every narcissus and mirror she would request, it is a reference. In Greek mythology there is a character named Narcissus or Narkissos, he was led by the goddess Nemesis to a water-body in which he saw his reflection and fell in love with it. Since he was mortal he died because he was unable to tear his gaze away. This is from where the term narcissism comes from.  
> Also, narcissus is the flower that Persephone plucked just before the earth split and from beneath it Hades rode out with his chariot. And then he dragged her into it, stealing her and turning back to the Underworld.  
> Mirrors of course have an obvious connection to vanity, so there's nothing to explain there.
> 
> If you may have forgotten, then in the part where the rulings of the worlds are discussed, by 'primal element' – the realms Niflheim and Muspellheim are meant. Which represent the elements of primal ice and primal fire.


	8. Annihilation. Part I

**Chapter eight**

**_Annihilation._ Part I **

The night was still young when Loki returned to the palace. The Asgardian fortress was lively, therefore if anyone were to notice him it would not be suspicious. The lurking Heir headed straight for his chambers, there he gathered his neatly prepared belongings. He conjured a familiar so that it would bring his handwritten note, which held the explanations for his upcoming absence, to his Goddess. There was no argument that he would miss her but this leave was crucial to the plot. And oh, was he betting a lot on it, not only hers but his own position as well. This was no mere prank, permanent incarceration would await him were he found out. So much at stake, it was far too frightening to think about that. Alas he had, for everything had to be taken into consideration.

The Godling had received his father’s approval for an upcoming trip. He had grated the Allfather’s nerves weeks prior to be granted leave for business. The God of Lies claimed the reason to be to further his learning of enchantment. It was no surprise for he always sought to enrich his knowledge of the subject he so sublimely excelled in. God of Magic – he was not graced with such a title (officially), thus meant that he still had much to learn. The topic could be debated upon, for the young man was a Master of spell-craft. In truth there were things that he still did not know, but his power overall was one that few (if any) could rival.                      

The Prince made his way to the outskirts of the Golden City. In one of the unused training grounds he had hidden a portal, he had toiled on that for a decent amount of time. The clearing meant for practice was soaked in energy for eons to come. It was the perfect place to conceal his own magic. He made sure that the area would be shrouded from any all-seeing eyes. Although no trickery was incorporated – for the grounds emanated plenty of mixed power, and it worked like a smokescreen. Such precautions had to be taken even if the boy-prince knew that Heimdall had to focus into something to observe it. There were certain regions his sight never strayed away from, the kind from which trouble could arise. But as wide as his gaze was, there were things that slipped past him unnoticed. Only if something caused a ripple in the waving winds of the World Tree were those intensely burning eyes drawn to it.

Now the God of Mischief would have to use a favor he was _not_ granted. However, surely, he would be able to talk that King into returning a debt well-earned. It was time to collect.

* * *

 

The scenery was inspirational but that was the least of the traveling male’s cares. It was evening and Svartalfheim was of yesterday. While the upper realms were thriving in the day anew, the lower ones were on the verge of death of the previous day. It was mystifying how when venturing distances that were not meant to be crossed so quickly, could lead you to tread the past. Such dualism was something worth studying and contemplating about, alas it was not the time for it. Ways of the Yggdrasill always interested Loki, although now he did not stop to ponder them.

Standing by a cave, so similar to others, made the Lie God wrinkle his nose in distaste. Dungeons, dungeons – why did it always have to be dungeons? He had no fancy for them and far too many less than pleasant memories were entwined with them. Deciding that stalling would do no good, with a firm step – he entered.

Down the path went, splitting into many pitch-black caverns, forgotten oubliettes and dead-ends. The entrance to the underground ‘castle’ was built this way to confuse and capture any uninvited guests. It was a splendid maze, the Heir had to give it that, however it was a far cry from the dangerous and intricate labyrinths he had visited and succeeded in passing. Not of Dverger building but it should not be thought of lightly because of that. Anything related to Trolls was often underestimated and that proved to be a big error in judgment for anyone who made that mistake, because without a doubt it would lead to one’s perish.

It was not the first that the he had visited the stone fortress, so he had no problem in taking the right route. Although this time he would make his visit known. Hiding in the shadows was no longer necessary.

The dome came to view and it was different. It was more refined (as refined as roughly built buildings from unhewn rock could be). There were a couple of huge stone obelisks erected that were not there before, but from the distance the lurker could not tell what was depicted on them. Three heavy pillars stood as gates and by them two guards were stationed. There were more of them concealed in various creases of the ‘palace’, he could easily spot them all. Oddly enough the new Ruler had changed not only the façade (he could not judge the interior, for it had yet to be revealed) but the guarding regulations as well.

Trolls led a life that was not bound by any canons so well incorporated by other races, even when it concerned larger populations of their kin. While the God could appreciate chaos in all its forms, the element for him had to be void of errors, such as ones in security. The beings he visited out of necessity were much more organized than their blood brothers. Orderly chaos – such an oxymoron. Although, to their gain, the Ruler was clever enough to change their unsorted lifestyle. Well, as much as the creature’s mental capacities allowed him. Still if it were the God of Mischief, he would have preferred more order in his chaos – that controversial concept was no stranger to him.        

Languidly and assuredly the Asgardian Prince marched towards the duo by the ‘door’. They perked up instantly once the Godling came into their visual field. He half-expected to be attacked instantly but that did not occur. The large, unsightly dungeon-dwellers looked surprised, obviously not many passed their smart (not really) traps alive. The one on the left spoke, his vocal range was billowing and reminiscent of rocks being ground together. Not a stroking sound to one’s ears in any sense.

“Who goes there?” the Troll asked and readied his spear, the tip of sharpened stone. Primitive but no less effective.

The seemingly out of nowhere appeared male would have to commend their King, such ‘etiquette’ was very rare to be met in their kind. No matter, he would be tied and brought to their royalty in no time. The greeting was still a slight reprieve though.

“We don’t like us no strangers ‘ere. Must’ve gotten lost; don’t worry we’ll a fix up a nice stew out of ya” the guard-troll on the right added.

He would have been flattered, if they would not have been renowned flesh-eaters who garbled down nearly anything. Skipping the introductions he curtly (and truthfully) stated his purpose.

“I have come here to meet King Geirrodur. I am here to collect a favor”

The two were momentarily mystified, although acted accordingly soon. Sharp stone and even metal weapons were directed at the visitor’s head. Faster than their movement allowed, but planned-out stations fixed, the other guards had surrounded him. Ah, here it was – the _warm_ welcome he was awaiting.

“We don’t care for your business, God. You came to your doom by showing up ‘ere” the first spoken creature voiced out.

Thus did not matter for he knew that he would not be disposed of immediately (not that they could actually manage to pull it off, a whole battalion of Rock Trolls would not be possible to defeat singlehandedly, but he had a trick or two up his sleeve, so escaping would not be of any real difficulty). Their current Leader was no fool, therefore he would not allow any trespassers to be devoured or gotten rid of without his approval. One could never know just who exactly could appear on your threshold. A mistake could lead to terrible consequences, war or total annihilation even.

The tiny looking man (compared to the Rock beings) offered no resistance as he was tied with a giant-sized rope. That was foolish, no special abilities would be required to escape such massive binding, the sheer size disallowed to efficiently secure one from moving.    

The young man was proved correct because soon he was brought in front of the Rock Troll royalty. The path to the open-spaced ‘throne room’ was the same as before, just minor alterations had been made in his absence. The shabby looking bridges of wooden planks tied with ropes had remained, clumsily cut stairs in the caves with steps half Loki’s size and big torch-lights. However the piles of bones and _leftovers_ were no longer there, not even by the many pyres. And that ensured that there was (almost) none of that unbearable stench. Not that it had ever bothered the residents, it was possible that their Ruler had from time to time led some negotiations in his ‘castle’.

The being upon the throne made of bone, stone and wood was just as humongous as his brethren. While the naming of their kin indicated ‘rock’ they resembled nothing of the material. These Trolls were called as such for their nearly impenetrable skin. A heavy golden crown, symbol of his ruling, rested upon the creature’s head. His body had changed from the last time the God of Deceit had laid eyes upon it. Now he resembled a blob of lard. Life had treated the Ruler well and that was unmistakable.

Quietly one of the guards had exchanged in conversation of what their ‘prisoner’ had said. The volume of the booming whisper did not escape the idling one, but he was not interested in the shared contents of it. Soon the seated Troll addressed him.

“Who are you, God? And why have you ventured into my halls? Speak!” the authoritative tone was not missed.

“King Geirrodur” the bound man spared the recognition of the Leader in front of him. Minor respect would not do him ill. “I am Loki, Prince of Asgard. But most importantly, I am your friend. My reason to traveling here is to attain a favor you owe”

“I know who you are Lie God, son of Odin”

The boy-prince sincerely disbelieved that, for then the question would not have been asked. Alas he did not doubt that the reputation with which his name was attested by was well-known.

“You claim to be our friend, yet I don’t recall ever offering you a favor”

“Do you not, your majesty? A debt half a century old? I am here to collect it. It would be best if we were to discuss it privately”

The light of remembrance flickered in the Troll’s ugly mug. His spear – Tordenstok was brought down forcefully to the stone dais his seat of power rested upon. The King ordered loudly so that every subject present would hear.

“Leave us, all of you!”

There was detectable noise amongst the many gathered inhabitants, but they all scurried into their living crevices, not wanting to face their Ruler’s wrath. A brief disagreement occurred between, what the Godling believed to be, advisors. Most possibly it was concerning their Leader’s safety. It all died down with a strict order from him though.

In counted minutes they were alone – Aesir and Troll in the open-spaced hall.

“Do not lie to me, silver tongued Asgardian! What do you know about the happenings fifty years ago?”

“It is not my purpose to lie to you, Rock Troll King Geirrodur. I believe there is no need for me to share the details of how you came to power. If you wish me to prove that I am _that_ friend, it would be all too easy to do. However I do not doubt that you understand how delicate my being here as well as my identity is, just like everything that concerns _that debt_. Surely you remember the words I have left on the wall. I think the favor I am asking for is well-earned, do you not agree?”

The creature was still distrusting, not that the young man could fault him for that. But he did not have the time for this.

“I have made no promises therefore I’m not obliged to do anything of what you wish of me to do”

“I know you are wise, that is why I believe that you will reconsider... It was for the best of not only the interest of Asgard but your own people as well, that you would take over the throne. Your predecessor King Veldemaris” the male avoided using the word ‘father’, in the nearly unbelievable, miniscule chance that Geirrodur had any nostalgic ties with the deceased “Would have left this kingdom in ruins. The Allfather would have made sure of that. It was convenient to everyone, myself included, that a worthier Ruler would come to power. The previous one had to be... removed. Knowing that I have aided in making that reality, a minor favor should not trouble you, your Majesty. It is all I ask. It would be best of you to aid me, for I do not think that any concerned parties should hear about the death of Veldemaris” the threat did not have to be specified, it hung heavily in the air despite the sweet poison-dripping words of the God of Lies.

The Troll King looked moderately angered by the bold Prince. Although he really had no choice but to oblige, playing with the Trickster God was not something he could afford.

“And what do you want, Loki Odinson?”

“Nothing that would endanger you or your subjects, King. I wish of you to dispose a handful of men, they have become a hindrance”

“Tell me Prince of Asgard, have they become a hindrance to you or your realm?” the Leader interrupted, a clever smile gracing his grotesque features.

The Master Magician opted for the truth, it was obvious anyway. Why would he ask the aid of someone from aside if the matter would be of his world’s importance – that would make no sense.

“To me of course. I must say that although it is connected with my father, he shall not come to the knowledge of your or my own involvement. It would not be to either my or your gain to have this deal brought to the light of day”

“So you say. But how can I know that you shall not betray me to receive recognition for your efforts to uphold your precious Asgard?”

“You cannot. Although it is of no use to me, preventing a mere ambush of rogue Trolls – for it is what it is supposed be, would not bring me fame, none at all. And anyway having you in your position, Geirrodur, is much to my gain. Because then why would I have toiled to help you achieve this post? You rule well, without a threat to my kingdom and you also have some influence over the black market” it was a compliment but not one based on a lie.

“And all I’ll have to do is sacrifice a couple of my people to return the favor?”

“Oh no, not at all. Your men will only be borrowed and shall return alive, all of them. Unless of course some of them will perish against the men they are sent out to kill – that I cannot control. But I am doubtful of it happening because an unexpected ambush will leave the prey defenseless. I will also be present, I will lead them to the designated place as well as return them to you”

* * *

 

The God of Deceit continued with the explanation of the plan. And while there were comments upon how the Prince did not wish to ‘get his hands dirty’, there were no objections to his faultless plot. The Rock Troll had no means of denying the Godling of his request. Not for the first time had the infamous Lie God spoken truthfully. When their business was dealt with, he uttered his last words.

“If everything goes according to plan I will not be unkind. However, if it will be the opposite – you will come to regret it dearly... Until the next time we meet, King Geirrodur”

“’Till then, sinister Heir of Asgard”

And with that the young God had disappeared in a vortex of emerald and onyx energy.              

* * *

 

He returned back to the Golden Palace. It was already morn’ and all the ‘late-birds’ were already starting to busy about. Sleep was an inviting idea but it was a luxury he could not afford. Without wasting a second he rushed straight to find his father.

The Godling found Odin alone in his hall, siting upon the Throne. He curtly informed the Allfather that he was to leave as planned. With the King’s approval he left for the Bifrost. Using the Rainbow Bridge was not necessary for he could travel by other means, however those were not meant to be disclosed.

Alfheim was his destination. Once the male had been transported there he took a detour. With a fake goal in mind he walked towards it until he was sure that Heimdall’s eyes were no longer on him. Setting up a timed prank of minor consequences, he apparated to Svartalfheim. The planted meager disturbance was left to cast the Bifrost Guardian’s gaze away from more important happenings. That way Loki could be sure that his presumed location would be verified.

This was already the third time he had to use his powers to cross realms in the hours nearly equivalent of a day. The man was feeling sick and exhausted. A manic grin and a twisted chuckle followed the realization that this was the first he had abused this ability so much. It seemed that because this mission was connected to Sigyn, he was beginning to sprout masochistic tendencies. Since a shaking physique, nausea and a colossal migraine, among other things, was not something he ordinarily enjoyed. However logically thinking, he did like testing his limits and working on pushing them further away.

It took the shapeshifter a good couple of hours to reach the place he desired. It was to his luck that in the form of a huge wildcat his stamina was in a better shape. Given if his energy depletion that brought on physical disharmony would not be a factor, he would have managed to rush through the lengthy distance much, much faster. However the God of Mischief still made it according to the schedule and it was quite a feat. To reach the area from his starting point would have taken at least a day on foot.

Much less time than he had presumed was wasted upon the inspection of an ancient portal. It proved to be functioning and only very little fussing was required to return its potential.

Leaving the sunburnt grassy field with a megalith structure behind him was not difficult. Often places laced with heavy ancient magic were difficult to enter and leave. The man did not feel the need to look back however.

The male changed his form once more to break down a long road. He retrieved his usual self only when he stood before the cave that led to Geirrodur’s domain. The God of Lies was allowed to pass without being forcefully dragged to their King, which was an improvement. The Ruler of the Rock Trolls was expecting the Asgardian royalty so he did not comment on the boy-prince’s nearly immediate return. He asked for a quiet place to recuperate (the Leader had been told of the magician’s method of traveling worlds – as it was rather obvious) and the request was granted without any complaint.

The closed-in chamber built into the very rock was secluded enough and that was sufficient. The Lie God was not foolish, therefore sleeping was not something he planned on doing. Alas he needed to regain strength, badly. A sleep-reminiscent state of trance, which purpose was to stock-up on energy, is what he would spend at least half the evening on. It was an open-eyes sort of technique, it did not hinder one’s awareness or ability and capacity to react.

* * *

 

When he returned from the meditation-like phase, the night was halved of its time. The prank he’d left in Alfheim was staring to trickle into motion.

He was given more than a dozen of creatures that he needed and they had already been introduced in detail what was to be accomplished. Trolls were not obedient creatures, but if they existed in a community – their Leader’s words were never questioned. The young one was not aware whether it was because they were too dull-witted (for some were not such) or simply because opposing was not in their nature. There was a wishing for ‘good luck’ by the Rock Troll King. It was not taken as sarcasm, for Geirrodur knew with whom he was dealing and how potentially dangerous the God was.

It took two days without rest to reach the old portal. Paranoid thoughts of unlikely scenarios of course did race through Loki’s head. Were the beings to rebel against him, relieving them from existence would not be easy. More often than not they were heavily underrated. Truly, Trolls were slow and frequently lacking mental strength – but they were difficult to kill off. However he could easily retreat from them unscathed and they would never be agile enough to catch him.

The God of Mischief was not one to _play fair_. Others who denied the very idea of fighting not on equal terms were idiotic. There was no chance to stand on the same ground when the situation touched races completely different from one another. When comparing the two it was so: Aesir excelled in speed, Trolls – in brute force. Leveling such vast contrast was impossible. Going against an opponent of the Rock origin, when only packing your physical power, would lead to certain demise. Fortunately the Asgardians had such a thinking of fair warring (but oh, were they wrong, war was never fair) and it only aided the Prince’s scheme.

Without question the huge creatures entered through the stone portal. No worried or distrusting glances, no hesitation or superstitious whisperings were among them. The Heir followed last.

The group entered Realm Eternal. Such movement did not hinder the flow of Yggdrasill, therefore they were safe for the moment. But that was where the trick he’d left would serve as a distraction. Not just in case but also for the reason of standing as proof that the Trickster God was nowhere near this world.

A day and a half (that had incorporated a short rest) was required to reach the southernmost border of Asgard. There the leading male instructed the Rock Trolls to begin the demolition of the great wall that surrounded the heart of the realm. The rising dust would obscure things well enough to lessen the image of reality, only the vague outlines and energy radiating would mislead into realizing this ‘attack’ as less for what it truly would be. To keep the clouds in position he was forced to use magic, very basic and it would easily dissipate. It would take time for Heimdall to take notice of this disturbance. And so the man left the creatures to wreak havoc and riot, while he himself returned to where he was presumed to be.

* * *

 

From Alfheim, where his trickery had already begun to tide-down, he called for the Bifrost. When the transportation was complete, he was greeted without words from the immovable Guardian. Alas there was this lecturing look that shined in those unnerving eyes, just the fiery orbs – for his expression betrayed nothing as usual (the Heir believed that Heimdall experienced barely few emotions, all toned down and shapeless). Thus was good, very good – his childish prank (of big magnitude) had been perceived. The wicked one grinned at the blank man, showing his lack of care for anything. No one knew but he could never be tamed, never righted out of his sinister ways...

Following the norm, the boy-prince informed those who it concerned of his return. And like that without a word of what he did or found, he shut himself in his rooms. There, as always after such thirst for knowledge led journeys, he would spend time barricaded in his study. Nearly nothing managed to drag the Master Magician out of it because until the learnings would be completely processed – the world was dead to him. Hopefully no one would uncharacteristically attempt such a feat of getting him out. So the empty chambers that the Godling was presumably in were locked away.

The Lie God lurked in the shadows. His nerves sizzled like a snare, it was unnecessary since his plan was foolproof. However the fact did not quell his anxiety. Enchanting someone into an idea, laying a thought that could not be denied into ones’ subconscious, was difficult. No matter the meagerness of the threat, the Odinfather would not take it lightly – when it concerned Asgard’s safety. The King would surely dispatch at least one of his famed Crimson Haws, but it needed to be _the right one_. Suggesting which to the Allfather by magical means was out of the question. Loki’s power was great, alas not great enough to pull it off. Even if he would be able to, the risks involved were not meek in any way. So he opted to weave it into someone else’s head, someone that would not even register his meddling.

When the Rainbow Bridge’s Guardian finally saw the attack-in-the-making on the heart of the realm, everything fell to place. The oaf Theoric volunteered to lead the party to the south region and to eliminate the monsters trying to seep through. His reason unvoiced but understood (just the way the God of Deceit wanted), was that he wanted to be victorious before his wedding. The Aesir commonly believed that being a glorious warrior was the biggest virtue of all for a man. And who wouldn’t want such for a husband? _Pathetic_ – the hidden one sneered inwardly.  

Odin agreed and accepted the offer. And so it was done. The satisfied smile that lit the short-haired, blond Hawk’s face was nauseating, just as the manly pats on the back he received from his weapon-brothers. The King was serious and the group of ten men (the number was bound to suffice, not likely – was thought with a sinister grin) geared-up and left. They traveled quickly – eager to fight, to win and to receive the prize. But Sigyn – the victorious goddess – was not smiling upon them...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of you have probably read of Theoric; Sigyn's and Loki's marriage. In this note I will tell you from where this version is taken, what is canon and what is not, appearances and etc.
> 
> In the Marvel comics Sigyn is betrothed to Theoric. He is one of the personal guards of Odin, one of the Crimson Hawks, which is a group of elite warriors. The said band (Theoric included) does not exist in the Norse mythology. And so, all of the trick-incorporating wedding is canon only to the Marvel comic books.
> 
> The Rock Troll King Geirrodur (also not part of the Norse myths) and his subjects according to the comics live beneath Asgard. I did not find this suitable for my story and I doubted that Odin would allow exceedingly questionable creatures to roam in his land. Therefore, the origin of these Trolls is in Svartalfheim, I believe it to be suitable considering its vast underground: caves, mines and what not.
> 
> The name of Geirrodur's spear is indeed Tordenstok, I have not taken it up to myself to conjure such details. I have no knowledge of any modern-day (much less ancient) Scandinavian tongues, which could at least serve as fundament for word-smithing.
> 
> The appearance of the King (or of the Rock Trolls for that matter) is not however Marvel-based. If it is difficult to envision what he's like in this fiction, then I can say that he would look similar to the Great Goblin (the ruler of the Goblin Town in which the Dwarves and Bilbo had fallen) from The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey. Just without the vesicles and less grotesque looking.
> 
> In the comics Loki had aided to overthrow (here, to kill) the Rock Troll king Veldemaris (which in this fic was actually the current ruler's father). That is why he agreed to help eliminate a group of Asgardians that were to patrol the border. Theoric along with the men went to the southernmost border of Asgard, three weeks before the wedding and there he was killed (although how exactly that goes I do not know because I could not find any databases that have this event, I'm relying on the notes I've made during previous searches).


	9. Annihilation. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains explicit violence, you have been warned.
> 
> Violence and horror rarely move me (more like never), so I cannot say how traumatizing this part is. It depends on the reader, therefore if you are squeamish – I do not recommend you to read (this is crucial to the story, so skipping isn't really going to help. But then again, this whole story has content that is common to the rating that this fic is sorted under. If you're easily offended, steer clear of this certain story).
> 
> I apologize to true fans of horror for this might not have enough impact to faze you. I honestly have no ability to tell whether it is gruesome or not. All I can recommend is that you read slowly and envision it as you go – might help the situation. I understand that broad daylight is in no way a scary setting, however it is suitable and maybe hits the right chord. How? Well, what takes place, happens in a scene in which you'd expect chirping birds and jolly princess, it sort of brings the horror closer, it sets it loose there, where you do not believe it to be lurking. So, perhaps dark dungeons are not necessary.
> 
> I tried not to be too immersed into details because I did not want it to seem as if I'm trying to push the fear factor onto you. I hope that it's just the right balance.

**Chapter nine**

**_Annihilation._ Part II     **

 

It was another great day in Realm Eternal. The sky was azure and the sun shone brightly. How unfitting, the young Prince of Asgard thought. He stood in the shade of large trees, the very aura emanating from him was menacing. He overlooked the toiling creatures. The light was only slightly obscured by the cloud of debris that rose from the slowly paced commotion. The Rock Trolls had spent all their time demolishing the wall that surrounded the main city of the Aesir. They had only managed to crack and dent the outer barrier, just a couple of blocks were removed. Truly, one might have seen the futility of such an attack. However Trolls in general were considered to be of inferior mentality and therefore it would not be questioned. It was also not a rarity for such outbreaks to occur or at least that was so after the birth of the Golden Throne Heirs.

The Godling had spent his time resting, while the group was approaching. He had spent in blindly, not having a choice but to rely that the soldiers would not get lost or reach their destination too quickly. And so he had regained his strength in the sanctuary of his chambers, where he was free to lower all his guard and achieve the energy he had lost, but not wasted – never wasted. Now that the frowning man stood further away, he knew that he had chosen correctly.

The beings that hammered and scratched the enchanted-stone wall were uncaring of the sinister God, no longer simply mischievous, not until this was done with. While he was the God of Deceit, he did not attempt to deceive himself – he wished for this not to be over swiftly. The wisest thing would be just to remain a nearly passive observer, aiding only when it was truly necessary. But it was against his wants, the rarely present sword at his side was a testament of it and it was not a symbolic one.

The noise of rock clashing against rock was overpowering, the very ground shook from the force. And the waiting male could even convince (lie to) himself that the moment was dead and lost in eternity because he willed it to be so. He had thought long and hard on what he would do once the despicable warrior was in his grasp, ready to be crushed. He should allow the soldier to be torn by the Trolls he commanded, but he would not – he could not. The fire that burned him scorched his insides. It would not relent, not before the deed would be committed. But the ‘how’ was strong, he had thousands upon thousands of variations of it, one better than the other. Alas even an Aesir would not be able to withstand all of them. Especially under these circumstances, where the area was not a hypothetical void, made specifically to stop or slow time and completely under the rule of its creator.

Loki knew that he was greedy and he had to constantly remind himself that this setting would do just fine, it had to suffice. Despite being uncertain of the method or methods he’d incorporate, he was sure that he would cast a spell so forbidden that it extended _beyond_ murder. The green-eyed Trickster was not a stranger when it came to dealing death, however it was never _this_ meaningless. Of course that was only if you viewed form the position of the majority, for in his point of view the man he would kill was not underserving of it. And that certain dark spell had never been used by him, and he’d not believed that it would ever become more than just a theory. Untested magic was lenient to failure but somehow the Lie God knew, he just did, that it would be more than successful.

Over the earsplitting racket the looming one heard the sound of galloping hooves. It should not have been possible but even without trying he could at times display the ability to use his raw power in order to enhance his senses. The God of Lies opened his eyes and the world stilled around him.

Finally the group of soldiers rode into his visuals. Their formation was of an inversed diamond shape, riding in the front was the leader – the Crimson Hawk. The Trolls stopped their working and turned their attention towards the Asgardians present. They quickly dismounted and charged, blindly – the watcher added. No questions were asked, no warnings – nothing. Weren’t they taught better? Obviously, strategy was not incorporated in their actions, how foolish. Although even if they had attacked on horses – it would not change a thing. While he felt embarrassment for their lack of rationality, he was satisfied with how well this would go for his plans. Of course the running Aesir with their loud war-cries had underestimated their opponents. They were even outnumbered. No matter what you were up against, a frontal assault, especially in such a predicament, was stupid beyond belief. Something Thor could have done, well at least he would manage to pull it off.

The Prince observed the battle. There were clangs of rough stone weaponry against steel. And for a while he did not interfere. He supposed even if he were not to, then the God party would lose anyway. There would be casualties amongst the Rock Trolls – yes, but the sheer inadequacy of Asgard’s _great_ warriors was evident. In time they would tire and clearly they barely even managed to graze his loaned troops.

Whenever the Aesir were close to severely wounding a Troll, there would be an illusion, a highly costing slip, an impossible miscalculation, a slimy critter crawling one’s leg and so on. The Trickster God threw his spells left and right, but overall – they were not all that necessary. He was careful not to let one _bother_ be injured because it was his to maim.

There was the familiar fierceness in the soldiers’ fighting, however it would do them no good. They screamed their annoying battle-cries while trying to defeat the threat. The humongous creatures lacked the agility but when needed – Loki’s aid came. A strike from a Rock Troll took its toll from any receiver and they had extreme difficulty continuing their efforts afterwards. It was opposed to the effect of the damage dealt by Asgardians – the Rock beings did not take notice of the meek attempts at wounding them. Standard swords skidded across the tough skin of the Rock Trolls. The Godling was pleased with the futile offence of the realm defenders.

The malicious God of Mischief continued idling. The imbeciles had not noticed him, well they should have checked their surroundings before rushing into their demise. If they had, perhaps they would have managed to use the area to their advantage, but they had not been observant. A hunter does not release his prey from sight, however one is not immersed so in the hunt to forget what is about, lest he’d walk into a mire. How utterly pathetic the show was, but the standing man, with arms crossed over his chest, reveled in it.

Minutes became decades and hours – centuries. The number of the Aesir started dwindling. Fear was not allowed for a warrior of Realm Eternal, but the Lie God noticed how panic etched itself onto their faces. The hopelessness of the situation was starting to catch up with them. Some of the foreign creatures helped their brothers to finish off a pesky soldier that would refuse to die, others were already interested in something else.

The scent of outside was not attainable to the God of Lies: the fresh air, lush grass – all of it was void from his gamut of senses. He could just slightly catch a whiff of dust that still lingered above, when prior to the arrival of these _uninvited guests_ it had been chokingly strong. But now his lungs were not burdened by it, they had adapted. All the gazing male could smell was blood. It should have been a stench unbearable – but it was not. He wondered why he liked it...

A counted few Aesir left standing remained and they did not fight against multiple opponents. No, the others who had already _scored_ – so to speak, were feeding. Oh they had to be famished, the Rock Trolls had so obediently followed their orders, not sparing any time to consume anything. But they could feed, feed to their hearts’ content – they were allowed to do so. Sanguine liquid spilled on the lush greenery, soaking the very ground, filling the dirt with what just recently had been _life_. Powerful teeth tore through flesh, devouring raw meat. Saliva mixed with blood was dripping from chins of the carelessly eating Trolls. Claws scratched and tore. There was red all over and for once the youngest Heir did not loathe it.

His glinting eyes slid across the corpses of what used to be Asgardian men. Their expressions were frozen in fear, which had blazed so brightly when they had been alive moments prior, mouths now were contorted in agonized screams. Limbs were severed, armor scattered, torsos torn apart, guts pouring out of stomachs of the deceased. Although those strewn about intestines did reek, the God of Deceit noted, when the wind carried the scent to him.

It was frightening how he did not care for this annihilation. He himself had orchestrated it and led the Aesir like lambs to slaughter. The God of Mischief – no, not right now, he was far too sinister for that name now. Only later would he rejoice with that title, for now he had to part with what he was.

He grinned like a mad man, an evil grin plastered itself onto his face and refused to leave. This was his plot and he hadn’t batted an eyelash when it had commenced. There was nothing he felt for the dead ones and a voice whispered that there would be no guilt afterwards either. The _Dark_ Prince should have felt it – but he didn’t. Never before had he slain (or had manipulated others into doing so) beings that he deemed innocent. And while he did not know whether these carcasses had done anything that would entitle him to look past their untimely perish, he still had them killed without an ounce of regret. These soldiers were simply at the wrong place, at the wrong time. They were _unlucky_ and that was all. Something deep, deep down inside of Loki reveled in the bloodshed, something monstrous and he pushed all of those nagging alarm bells aside. The young man would have been sated with just one death, just one death... But the Universe was unkind to that wish and disposing of the unsuspecting ones was a necessity. Worthless sentimentality had no place in his mentality – not now, not ever.

Only two Asgardians remained. One was on the brink of passing. The other, the Crimson Hawk still fought futilely. Of course the warrior had higher skill than the soldiers he’d been sent with, but it was because of the resourceful God that he was still unharmed. The battling man was not tired yet. The Godling tilted his head, the deceased could blame their leader for their demise. Because even without the meddling of the God of Lies, they would have lost either way.

It was time for him to enter the field. The male languidly walked towards the dying commotion. The Troll fighting Theoric upon noticing the approach backed away and returned to his feasting kin. The others paid no mind to the man that had joined the bloody grounds. To see the reason of his opponent’s retreat the Crimson Hawk turned around. The expression of surprise was laughable.

“Prince Loki...” after the uttered words quicker than was expected he summarized why the Rock Trolls did not attack the God of Deceit.

“You treacherous bastard! Why have you done this?!” anger was tangible in the tone.

The Lie God did not reply to the accusation, all he did was grin with malice. His answer was the unsheathing of his sword. The Hawk followed suit and raised his weapon, confused rage reflecting in his face. The green-garbed Heir delighted in the fact that for the moment he would enjoy overpowering the other with just physical means, in the _Asgardian_ way.

He did not wear his signature armor, what purpose would it serve? Clearly in this case it would be useless when his adversary was far weaker than him. It did not matter that he was an elite, he would still fall with ease.

The young man moved his thin sword about playfully. This was no more than a game. Were it serious, he would not have resorted to this weaponry. His sword was unique, not like the heavy Aesir ones or the sort used for artistic fencing (because rarely did any use them for actual battles – with the exception of Fandral; it was more of an art to wield one). The blade was black and thinner, but just as long as the common used swords, also lighter and much sharper, the guard and hilt were braided with black and emerald-green leather. It was made not in Asgard and from materials not used in this realm. Meant for assassinations and not fair duel, but for the very moment he would attempt to _play_ _by the rules_.

Noticing that the God of Mischief did not make the first move, Theoric charged at him. The blow was deflected with ease and he seemed stunned by the fact – wasn’t the Allfather’s second-born a coward and a weak combatant? Then why did he look so bored? The soldier shouted at the royal man.

“You will pay for what you’ve done!”

“Oh, I doubt that” the sentence was followed by a confident smirk. It only further enraged the Hawk.

The fight continued and swords clashed. The Princeling easily evaded the steel weapon. He was agile and an experienced swordsman, although untraditional. But to the soldier that did not have the ability to adapt to this strange new style, it cost dearly. The fuming one was trying his best to strike a hit, and with only offense – defense was completely forgotten. Good, good he was predictable in the standard Asgardian fighting patterns and his emotions only made way for more mistakes.

This was far too easy, the boy-prince thought. He had honestly expected more of a challenge. The ebony blade slid across Theoric’s hand, he hissed in pain. Only because of the skill the Trickster possessed was the hand not sliced clean off. The taunting male inwardly chided himself, he had to be more careful, lest he’d wound the man without meaning to... yet.

The fight was beginning to show its true colors and the God of Lies was finished with enjoying his dominance of this duel. It had gotten old in a matter of minutes. The young God grasped the hilt of his sword with two hands, he required more force to execute this. Before the Crimson Hawk even managed to register what was happening, the Master of Magic swung his dark blade. The steel one did not withstand the blow, it was cut in half. The losing warrior had not expected this and so with a second light hit, the halved weapon was knocked out of his hands.  

Theoric was at a loss. His brain could not comprehend how it was possible that his weapon had been destroyed. After the initial shock had dissipated Loki took notice of the ideas forming in the soldier’s mind. Did he really think he could take on the Prince barehanded? How stupid was he? Before any action against him could be taken, the sorcerer cast a spell over the man. Thick snakes started coiling themselves about him. He was trying his best to get them of, not like it would help him though. Soon the warrior lost his footing and tumbled to the ground – hard.

The binding winded tighter about the struggling male and the disinterested one started walking away. The snakes pulled the man after the languidly strolling God. When he reached the trees, beneath which he had watched the battle, the great serpents strung their captive on a branch. The weight was shifted so that Theoric would not be choked and that his vocal cords would not be restricted. He continued fruitlessly fighting against the bonds while the other observed.

The Throne Heir half-expected to be questioned of his reason for doing this. Pleading and begging was not anticipated because Aesir were prideful creatures and rarely would any resort to it, more so since it was a Crimson Hawk. However none of the named things were said aloud. That did not disappoint the victor, for he would not have responded to any questioning, giving answers and explanations was of no use.

The many snakes became metal-like and although Theoric obviously attempted, he could barely move a muscle. The grounded male noted how the branch his prey was hung upon did not sway under the strain. His eyes narrowed and he enchanted the bindings to burn. They heated and the armor started twisting. The Hawk made no sound until the metal started melting and scalding him, then there were intangible and restrained sounds. With a gesture the God of Trickery willed the serpents to cool and they moved away from the man’s chest as to not obscure it. Relieved breathing was loud, but the warrior should not have relaxed – because the mischief-embodied was not finished yet...    

The Godling was beginning to feel lightheaded. There was no plan but he could deal with a little chaos. The temperature of his flesh started descending, his insides felt as if they were covered in ice – none of these physical _illusions_ (that’s what he believed they were) bothered him. He was used to feeling cold. He twirled his sword in his hand: what to do, what to do... A frightening grin split his face and fright truly marked the soldier then. The Lie God brought his dark weapon swiftly and lightly down the uplifted one’s torso. He cut the damaged armor and undershirt, uncaring of the scratches he inflicted, which were followed by hisses from the Asgardian warrior. The protective clothing that covered his upper half fell down with a clang as it met the earth below.

The torturer stared down the ebony tool. He tore his gaze away. The blade began heating, differently than the acidic ties had, there were small rivulets of emerald flame traveling the expanse of it. Aesir were not easy to kill but it was not his idea to end this quickly. He wanted this to be long and excruciating, so that the young man could let go the heavy inner burden of the hatred he felt.

Once the weapon was in the right stage of heatedness it was shoved into Theoric’s side. The wounded one screamed. The God of Deceit loved the sickening sound of the crunching bones that the broken ribs let out, as well as how easily the sharp thing pierced his failed adversary.      

He removed it. The second time he inserted the sword into the agonized Hawk was slower and beside the primarily made wound. And just as the first it was not pushed completely through the suspended physique. The God bathed in the glory of how smoothly it pierced the male, the way he sensed how it went through the no longer grounded form: through skin, tissue, muscle, bone and innards. He could smell the charred flesh’s scent – it was not revolting. The blade was turned anti-clockwise ever so slowly. The warrior felt it, an impossible to decrypt sound indicated that. He kept the weapon inside for a while.

The ebony blade was removed with haste and thrown aside. Why wasn’t this working?! The Trickster’s brain reeled. He should feel better, damn it to the Unnamed Realms! He did not think it possible, alas he was proven wrong – his anger grew. The Heir’s body increased into a feverish temperature, he burned all over. This was something that rarely occurred to him and each time it did, he experienced weakness and nausea. This time was no different but the reasons were probably much more connected to the Aesir he was torturing.

There was no well-formed idea on how to proceed. All he wanted was to rip Theoric limb from limb, yet he could not do that – even if it were doable, it would end this far too quickly. A short-lived momentary satisfaction was not worth it. The high-pitched squeals, so familiar to that of a slaughtered pig’s, were quieting.

Loki’s fingernails elongated on their own accord. There were no enchantments involved, whether it was magic-related or not – did not matter, for it was done without his conscious choice. He flexed his claws, clenching and unclenching them. When he was a child the urge to scratch and claw things or even worse – others, was not an uncommon occurrence. So with an insane hybrid of a leer and a grin, the mischievous royalty embedded his hands through the tanned skin. Such physical strength was impossible to kinsmen of Asgard to achieve – he did not perceive this fact. The talons were forced inside well past his knuckles. There was something strangely appealing about having someone’s tissue beneath your nails. He twisted his fingers and was replied to in that same way that he _adored_.

When he let go and stepped back his state changed for the better, however the enraged flames remained and did not ebb.

Whenever the God of Lies was specked with the crimson liquid he was always quick to wash it away (if possible) or cast a spell to erase it. He acted so not because he had a disliking for blood, he was apathetic when it came to it, but because having remnants of something or someone on himself did not bode well with the Godling. It was strange how in this particular case he did not mind the blood dripping from his hands, they were soiled with it but that did not bother him as it should have. It was a predatory thing to relish the sensation, for now he chose to ignore this truth.

The blood that had soaked his hands was now dried and congealed. It was a heavy feeling but he wanted to continue with the Hawk’s blood on his hands for his whole existence and beyond. Something akin to tranquility weaved itself into the boy-prince, alas it was swift in its passing. He was the tormentor but he was tormented, tortured with visions his ever-present mind spawned. They brought fear and disgust along with them, so powerful – this mix restricted his lungs. The Lie God thought that he knew what rage meant, but this was far beyond anything he had experienced before. This level of hatred was not something he believed to be possible and it only continued escalating. He was more than spiteful, always had been. Perhaps it was because this was personal and that played part in what an overpowering hurricane he fell into. It was too much, he thought that he was going to scream, vomit, cry, claw, tear everything and a certain someone in sight – all that at once.

Oh, the soldier would get all that he wanted and he should have been careful with what he wished for – because the God of Magic would become the evil force, which would make those dreams come true...

The imaginary was vile and heart-wrenching. The Godling could see in his mind’s eye Sigyn on her knees in front of the Crimson Hawk with his cock in her mouth. She was crying and twisting, the man’s hand was in her hair. It was sickening so much that it could not be described in words and even his famed silver tongue was incapable of doing it. It did not matter that his depiction could be faulted and that Theoric was a good Aesir. For if he were her husband, then he had all the right over his wife. And the Goddess would be _forced_ to commit _all_ her wifely duties.

With a flick of his wrist the Master of Magic called upon a pale slug. It was big and terrifying as it rose from the ground. It moved and displayed its powerful rows of sharp teeth. Eyeless and deaf but more than capable of being sent on any enemy of its owner’s choosing. Despite everything the soldier’s gaze was drawn to it, he was frightened and the prophesied sorcerer could see thus. The thick, slimy creature moved around the strung one’s leg, using its maw to tear through the fabric of his trousers. What a warped way to fulfill those perverse desires. The Prince of Asgard smiled, teeth glinting dangerously. This discord he liked.

When the summoned familiar reached the warrior’s groin, it ripped the material and encased the man’s reproductive organs. It began chewing, it was obvious by how the rings of the being’s form rippled. Those sharp teeth that were throughout the fleshy slug were perfect for this deed. One of the sweetest tunes of a loud, very loud agony echoed in the area. One of the best melodies the Heir had heard in centuries. Time passed and he felt like dancing – swirling in graceful circles to the sound. He wanted to follow that wish fervently but stood nailed in place, observing.

The crooked-minded male remained unmoving, witnessing beads of sweat rolling down the toned, sun-bathed Hawk’s skin and listening attentively to the way the voice got hoarser and hoarser. Damage your vocal cords, scream your throat raw, get your physique maimed beyond repair of even the most gifted healers – that was what the God of Mischief wanted. All of that and _more_...

But soon it wasn’t enough. Why was this not enough, when was that plague going to leave his brain? Apparently all that was shoved carefully and barricaded in the Lie God’s subconscious had broken out like water from a shattered dam. It all wormed its way into his head. He was sure that the other male’s crotch was destroyed nearly completely, yet that was insufficient to sate the bloodthirsty God. Hours had melted away since he’d started this _game_ but he had been satisfied only for short glimpses of time. His breaths were coming in short puffs. He had to steady himself because the once-again arisen images were shaking his very core and it was visually obvious as well.

The God of Lies received the vision of his lover naked on a bed. The loathsome man was either behind her when she was on all fours or atop her. The Lady was sobbing harshly, screaming in pain and pleading, _begging_ for him to stop. It was nothing short of rape, it was _unforgivable_. His Sigyn was torn from inside out, but did her husband care for her tears, of course not!

The familiar was stopped but did not retreat due to Loki’s non-vocal command. The sounds however did not cease to be born aloud from the _‘elite’_. Oh, he wanted to fuck her, did he? He wanted to penetrate her and slam into her until she tore and bled? Now he would know what that would feel like, oh yes he would...

The young man dressed in green cast a spell and another serpent apparated. It was large, of such a size that even a burly man would have trouble clasping the snake’s body in hand. The skin of the summoned creature was acidic and would burn when in contact with a God’s flesh. The being climbed up the tortured man.

There were flashes in the Godling’s conscious, the screams that he never wished to hear. It was pure torment that made his eyes burn in purgatorial fires. He could not forgive for what he saw...

The snake impaled Theoric. There were vocalizations of agony. The Prince grinned.

A long while later it changed its course from the rectum and slowly started burning its way through muscle and innards, coiling about the man’s spine. The rage driven magician made his slug continue its devouring as well.

More than hour in reality had passed, the envy-green God knew that it was the equivalent of eternity to the Crimson Hawk. He had screamed until he could no longer emit a sound. The once lively blue eyes had turned glassy. The torture instigator was aware that soon the soldier’s brain would begin shutting off. There was no other choice but to end this. The serpent had vined about the dying male’s spine and with a loud crunch the bone was broken. The light of life disappeared, it was truly over.

Alas it was not only the spine that had snapped, along with it did the God of Mischief. Anger did not die along with the victim. The bindings were called back to the negative space, the spells were uplifted. The dead warrior fell heavily down.

His body laid on the ground unmoving. The Heir approached closer and placed his foot on the corpse’s head. The victor grimaced from the loathing he still felt for the carcass. Once more with power not wielded by his race, he pressed down his black boot and crushed the Hawk’s skull. He then removed his blood and bone fragment splattered leg and stepped way.

Minutes went by and he just watched the threat, as if believing that he would still rise and continue as a phantom to haunt the beloved lady Vanir. He had to mentally slap himself to cease this angered stalling, before the Valkyries or any other entities attested with death would appear and drag the spirit of the fallen male to a place of eternal rest.

The God of Magic fixed the sleeves of his emerald coat. There were etched markings displayed on his pale skin. Usually for this incantation a circular pentagram with forbidden symbols was required to be set about the deceased, on whom the caster wished to cast the spell upon. Also candles had to be placed around in certain points for this to work. The Lie God however could not set up such requirements though. Not only would they leave their irremovable mark, they would also need time to make. Therefore, this improvisation was conjured. The boy-prince’s arms had been scarred and inked with customized versions of the symbols required. In his extended palms green flames were called forth, in order to substitute the candles and other fire-based necessities.

The God of Lies began chanting in whispers. The words poured from him without rest, ancient, powerful and forbidden. The markings on his flesh burned and the painful sensation intensified, however it coexisted with his rage in harmony. He did not care for it or for the feeling of raw power coursing though and scalding his veins as if it were potent poison.

The corpse began convulsing. The wind blew in harsh gusts, soaking in the magic. Nowhere else would it be observed but at the very spot there was an eclipse, darkness took reign of all. The spell casting male realized that he should be frightened by this ability he possessed and what it was capable of doing, yet it felt all too natural, as if he was born to do this and oh, he was...  

If there were any spiritual-leftover gatherers, they were warned away – this dead was not theirs to harvest. The young man spoke the chants until it was finished and he fell to his knees as his own power abandoned him. He cackled madly and loudly – it was _finally_ over, _he did it_. The fit was not ceasing but the care for his composure was not there. Theoric was finally nullified to nothing, absolutely _nothing_. This was the banned magical art of nihility. The Master of Magic had removed the Crimson Hawk’s soul from existence. Now he would be nowhere to found – because he was no longer part of any world: this Universe or any other. He would not be in Valhalla, Folkvangr or even the Unnamed Realms. No, he would not be spawned anywhere else either and it was permanent, even beyond the end of time. The man was erased _completely_ and _utterly_ , and while he would still be remembered, no remnants of him would strive off on it.

In time, the mirth shaken one managed to stop and stand upright. His knees were still weak, he was drained. Nothing was ever free, so whatever price he had to pay for this – it was worth it. No matter what – Sigyn was safe and that was the most important thing. His being throbbed, his veins and arteries pulsed until it all ebbed away and all that was left was emptiness. It was blessed though. The energy required for this was not borrowed. Oh no, it was his own and it simply was used up, it did not disperse in the air. Therefore it was undetectable.

Loki pulled back his sleeves into place, those etchings would have to be concealed with the aid of magic if necessary. Although he was sure that no one would notice them either way. Odin would not perceive the disappearance of that one spirit that got away, he wasn’t all too keen on counting his sheep in the Hall of Slain anyway, and he had no power over Folkvangr, not to mention the Unnamed Realms.

After a quick breather the God enacted an impenetrable façade. It would have to hold until he could retreat to rest. He calmly strode to the feasting Rock Trolls, they seemed disinterested as always. It appeared that the macabre show did not have any impact and was not worth watching at all. That was not taken as an insult by the Godling. When he was in close proximity one of the Trolls asked.

“‘hat should we do wif t’ remains?”

“Take them with you, do not leave any bones behind. Take the one on the hill as well. Do not worry over the small fragments and blood”

No disagreement was met. And as slow as their kin moved, they started gathering what was left of the great Asgardian men. The realm Heir felt nothing towards them. He leaned onto the wall, trying not to stress himself more than he already had. Damn and there was still so much to do. It was not regular physical fatigue, it was much more dangerous and it extended beyond his flesh form. He had to fight to not lose consciousness. Apathetically the man observed the creatures carefully gather, rope and drag various parts that were once living soldiers. He drew his gaze to the side, where the horses had been last. The animals had scattered, probably when the violence had begun taking place.

The barely standing God of Deceit whistled loudly. A great hawk answered his call. The means of information sending used by the Allfather. A minor spell was cast and it sent a stinging clench in the male’s liver, that was a reaction caused by depletion and strain. What he did was cover the airborne bird’s eyes, blinding it so that by no means could it be used to reveal what had taken place. Despite the lack of its visual senses it landed without even the slightest miscalculation upon the extended arm. The God of Lies removed the paper tied to the creature’s leg. It was calm and somehow he hated how obedience was engraved into the grand animal.

Messily, in standard handwriting the Prince conveyed a coded message. Its content was curt so that it would display the heat of battle, the conditions it had to impersonate. On the small piece of paper he wrote (without giving the name of the writer, it was to be assumed to be one of the sent warriors) that the threat had been dealt with, but something odd was happening, and that they were going to return shortly. The Lie God then placed the note in the metal casing and fastened it to the bird. It flew back and when it was high, the Master of Magic willed the blindfold to disappear from the hawk.

Loki sighed heavily. It appeared that even the slow pace of the Trolls was not reprieve enough. He was glad that he didn’t have to give out orders and reprimand them for they were efficient in their current task. The remains were roped and all in sacks when one of the Rock Trolls inquired on what they should do next. The boy-prince replied that it was all. Once the creatures began trekking back he cast a spell over the area. He minimized the signs of the things that occurred, most of the spilt blood had vanished. It would still resemble a battleground but not soil upon which a slaughter took place. However, he left the damaged wall unchanged – this had to be a mystery, but with several signs left. The young man joined his victorious party and began the journey to return the borrowed soldiers.

* * *

 

The prince was back at the underground fortress. He stood on a ledge that overlooked the main area of the ‘palace’ and the pitch-black pits below. The Rock Troll King approached the God of Mischief from behind. The creature’s steps were heavy and sent shocks through the stone. Once he was beside the young man he asked, while his gaze extended over his kingdom.

“I take your mission was a success, Odinson?”

“But of course” came the reply, however the God did not turn his attention to the questioning Troll.

The inhabitants were going about their business. The torches and pyres were all burning, rock glinting from the light of the wood-licking flames. It was not a sight he’d miss. Trice seeing it in such a short notice was more than enough, yet the male could not say that it was an exceedingly unpleasant view.

“Had I not said that I would bring all of your men back.” it was not a question.

“You have. I reckoned that going against Asgardians they would come back in a worse shape”

“Do not underestimate the Aesir. This was a small group and when necessary, I had aided here and there, for I had to return what I had borrowed unharmed”

“And somehow you don’t seem pleased”

“I am. Thank you, your Majesty, for loaning to me your troops. It is very much appreciated” he said without mockery tinting his words.

Geirrodur did not offer anything for the outspoken gratitude, it was not the case that he had had any choice in declining the request.

“Personal... business not rarely can leave one unsatisfied. Even with the hindrances gone it still can hold you for a long time”

“Hmm” was the agreement issued by Asgard’s Throne Heir.

“You’ve brought here the corpses. For what reasons?” there was no annoyance in the tone of the Rock Troll Leader.

“I wish for you to dispose of them, thoroughly. Burn them until the very bones become ash. Do not leave anything behind, no matter the weaponry or valuables they have”

After a pause the King said, he seemed mystified.

“I know of such a superstition, that everything belonging to the dead should be left with the dead. But surely, someone as you doesn’t believe that old nonsense?”

The retort came with a spiteful glare thrown the Rock being’s way.

“It has nothing to do with such. However insignificant but leaving behind remnants of the deceased or their possessions can lead search parties to the location. However I have made sure that there would be no trail leading back to your dome, Geirrodur” he consciously did not add a status to the name “But it is not impossible to find beings by the essence left by their remains or their items. I do not want any traces left behind and it does not matter how miniscule a chance it is, I do not think that you wish to risk either. Furthermore, if anything of Asgard remained in here, forgotten in some crypt or crevice, then it would not be to your gain if it would be found accidentally. Asgardians are temperamental and if any stray warrior would find anything, they could get the idea that they should avenge the dead ones despite how long the items had laid in your vaults. I do not doubt that your people could deal with any... disturbances, but again, that might cause Realm Eternal to focus onto your dome”    

Obviously the Troll could not fault the Prince’s logic.

“Very well, then. I’ll have the bodies burned along with anything on them”

“Scatter the ashes once it is done, do not leave their presence behind in your domain” the Godling interjected.

“It shall be done”

“I had promised that I would not be unkind if you would keep your end of the bargain. And so, I offer you a favor. When you will have any need of my assistance, I shall aid you”

Billowing laughter escaped the large creature.

“You mean to tell me that you will do anything I would ask you, to show your gratitude? You deceive, God of Lies!” Geirrodur continued with his joyous mirth.

The boy-prince smirked.

“Of course not. I shall only aid you with a reasonable and accomplishable task. I do not lie because I do not claim to, as you say, _‘do anything’_ ”

“I don’t believe your silver tongue. Our deal has been finished. What point would it serve you to allow me to claim a favor?” the King sounded serious.

“I simply do not see why our business-based partnership should end here. We may find it useful to continue it, I am sure that this would bring mutual benefit”

“You are as cunning as you are rumored to be, Prince Loki, just don’t play games with me... I accept your offer”

“Splendid”

* * *

 

When the youngest son of the Allfather returned home, he could barely stand on his feet. The limits were long since passed and he was beyond depleted.

The God of Magic did not know how he had managed to still make successful enchantments because he was taking energy from the negative and that was impossible. He strained himself not only to enter Asgard but to also apparate straight into his locked chambers. It would have been better to simply sneak into them, but his body was no longer controllable and it was not only tremors that shook him. Whether he had any power left or not was not even questioned because he knew the answer. But that did not matter for he _had_ to follow his plan.

Once the drained Master of spell-craft was in his bedroom, he instantly collapsed onto his large bed. The young man did not care for undressing or situating himself properly into the bedding. He did not care for such trifle matter and he had no choice anyway – every movement since the soul erasing had been excruciating. It was not forbidden for nothing, as every spell from that category took tolls, which at times bigger than the magician could manage to pay.

As his form graced the mattress, the Trickster instantly fell in a comatose-like state, and it was not an intricate word used to describe sleep.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're here, reading this, then I assume that you've already read the content of this chapter, so my further explanations will not spoil anything for you.
> 
> I wanted Theoric's death to be agonized but not without reason (in Loki's point of view). The sexual nature of the torture is well explained by the prince himself. His distant fears for Sigyn suddenly turn into something his mind thinks best to show him at the moment, and in the end he is almost living in those illusions. At that point Loki believes those horrid happenings to be true, this is where the true rage comes from. While it's really not something that redeems him, but given if all those illusions were real, then the Crimson Hawk would have been deserving of this, husband or not. And since our favorite Norse god has a psychotic moment, he acts upon it (I'll get to the point of why he is not guilty afterwards, later). I wanted the scenes to be moderately graphic, while the torture itself may seem so forced upon the readers – it really isn't. Taken Loki's mental state, completely blinded by a myriad of emotions, it is not very out-of-character (for the character he is in this fiction at least).
> 
> The lie god does not feel guilty, why? Well that is because he had already planned all sorts of nasties for Theoric. I mean the whole soul erasing thing was already in his scheme. I guess he's taken out such big guns because somewhere subconsciously Theoric was a threat (the thoughts Loki received prove that), not to him but to Sigyn. So he makes sure that come what may, at least that man will be unable to harm her, he makes it completely impossible.
> 
> Concerning Thor: The Dark World, there will be a couple of things different than what was told there (details quite insignificant, I do not yet know if something more vital will be changed in this story). First, it is something this chapter already had in it, Aesir in this story are hard to kill. In Thor 2, it seems that just one blade run through an Asgardian is enough and they die in a matter of minutes (which made them appear far, far weaker than in Thor or the Avengers). Second, Odin said that the Aesir live up to 5000 years (if I remember correctly), here the number is larger and undefined. In this fic they are more 'gods' than in the movies (where they are just a supreme alien race).
> 
> If you've seen the first movie of Thor, I need not explain to you why Loki momentarily was able to possess strength beyond that of an Aesir's. The Jotunn prince sprung claws, yeah yeah I know that in the Odinsleep scene with Laufey, when the frost giant king opens Odin's eye, his fingernail is nothing akin to a claw. You can take it as either me adding drama to the appearance (as if something inherited by blood seeped in Loki's lie-visage) or since the envy-green god is a shapeshifter, just a rage inspired, partial transformation into some predator.
> 
> Loki's not a sword user – we all know that. Reason why he had one was because he wanted to overpower the adversary on quite fair grounds. He knows that he's a skilled warrior, despite what anyone claims. Also he does like surprising people, gleefully even, when they underestimate him. The shape of the sword would be something akin to a Japanese samurai's sword – katana.
> 
> For the appearance of the toothy slug, well it would looks something like Carnictis (them critters with teeth) from the movie King Kong (2005). You can google the images of 'carnictis' from 'King Kong' or search in youtube 'insect pit king kong'. Watch either, if you are not fazed by CGI'd bugs and slugs. If you are not familiar with the movie but choose to check out that scene at least, then the slug from here will be similar to the ones there (just smaller, ringed but similar).


	10. Return

**Chapter ten**

**_Return_ **

When Loki woke up he was utterly disoriented. A few minutes passed filled with blind searching of valid information in his brain. As the process was completed the young Prince scrambled out of his bed, tripping and uncaring for grace. He easily found out what day it was (for there was no idea on how long he was out). Relieved, the God of Mischief slunk down to the floor, thank Norns there were still six days left to the wedding.  

The looking-worse-for-wear male breathed heavily, he had come to regret his swift and care-lacking movements. His body was aching all over, every muscle felt strained, every bone shattered and every nerve sizzled. His reckless actions had only sharpened the sensations from the backlash of the forbidden spell.

There was no use idling, he decided. It was pretty clear what the Lie God had to do (and to the Unnamed Realms with the damned fatigue): firstly, he’d need to emerge not looking like just out of the battlefield; secondly, gather whatever talks are flying in the Bright Home; thirdly, weave something convincing on what he’d been doing in Alfheim and what enchantments he had been analyzing in the past days; fourthly, meet his lover; and lastly, begin the Crimson Hawk masquerade...    

* * *

Things were buzzing akin to a beehive but there was nothing strange about that. Everything was proceeding according to plan. Even the imposing frown that was etched on his father’s face was anticipated. The Odinfather was not pleased by the odd message he had received from his troops, it was not something Asgard knew about though.

Lord Njord was more often at the Golden fortress and that was also perceived by the Godling. The friendship the two Rulers had the benefit of doubt, however it was obvious that the arrived information was conveyed to the fallen King. The God of Lies believed that the old Vanir God did not appreciate the fact that the man meant to marry his granddaughter was away and that danger might befall him. No one knew but that was already post-factum...    

And so the mind of the God of Deceit took him to the routes of pondering about the forces of the Allfather. His older brother was well-liked amongst the warriors (he was on high regards of nearly everyone though). Despite both of the Heirs’ young age, Thor was always viewed upon as an equal by the soldiers. Sometimes even idolized, while Loki was demonized (perhaps a word picked too strong but quite fitting nonetheless). It most possibly was not a thing tied with personality, but because he lacked the skills that were so valued in Realm Eternal. That wasn’t completely accurate if anyone was really precise – the youngest royalty was adept in the art of battle, not that he was keen on showing that off. It was simply against his nature to fight ‘fairly’, he would always incorporate a trick or two – that was his style. The Master of Magic, the Trickster God – who ever appreciated that? At times it seemed that the answer was – no one.

* * *

Noatun – the land of seas was what the boy-prince was treading upon. The salty air did him no good, it only agitated his less than prim shape. His bones sang agonized odes about how much they loathed him right now. Whatever his body wanted to tell him was unimportant, since even that could be mended by tricking the overall attention to something much more... _delectable_.

He walked on without shrouding his presence, however the steep banks and sharp rocks were a nuisance in his path. Too bad it was only to his gain that most of the Vanir residing here were ignorant to such an unwanted intrusion. The owner of the lands and the grand estate was currently away.

It was peculiar on how he barely caught the rushing energy. The male’s quick thinking told him that this was so because he had been expected and that was not anticipated.

Sigyn was swift and all smiles when she made her way to him in a speedy stroll-run. She had nearly managed to sneak up on him, if it weren’t for her approach being straight in front of him. The bright hot-rose tint of her dress did the Goddess in, not that she was trying to hide.

Once she was but a few steps away he wanted to greet her vocally, although it was unsuccessful. The young woman hugged him tightly without a word – the action was not foreseen. Before he managed to return the heated, happy embrace, the God of Mischief had to conquer his bafflement. However he found it to be easily explained – the Lady had missed him also and with what had happened on Vanaheim (everything said and done before then too, but that was far too overshadowed by the aforementioned thought) – this kind of greeting was not all that bizarre. The man rested his chin atop her head, enjoying the close contact he closed his eyes.            

“I missed you” the girl whispered. And here it was, confirmation – check.

“I missed you too, Sigyn”

She released him far too soon, he internally bawled for the loss of her warmth in his arms. The Vanir’s expression was warm as she asked.

“Where have you been?”

“Now where would be the surprise in telling you?” with a wolfish grin he replied.

“That would indicate that it’s connected to me in some way or that it would interest me”

“Clever girl” the second-born Prince said, his tone lacking seriousness.

She snorted, so very unladylike. But he liked it, her reactions entertained him greatly.

“Now that’s an insult”

“Oh, but I was not being sarcastic, merely playful. And anyway, how have you been?”

“Bored and worried”

“For me?” the God of Deceit dragged the words out and finished with a gleeful smirk.

“Nope. For myself – it’s like the days ‘till my execution are being counted. Feels like I’m already treading on the scaffold”

The Goddess was honest, not that he found the truth to be hurtful, not at all. Even if it were to be unsightly, he’d still prefer it over a honey-sweet lie.

She’d skipped the part where she was supposed to inquire the same of him, but proper etiquette was something he would hate to share between them. The girl-woman’s interest was directed to their current location.

“If you’re going to stay here for a while, it would be better if we’d move elsewhere and not stand about. Plus, it isn’t the wisest to be like this in the open. No matter how minuscule the chance of being seen is”

The God of Magic nodded in agreement.

“There’s this secluded alcove in the gardens. It’s close to the house” he noted how she did not refer to her living place as a ‘palace’ or any other similar word, despite the fact that the building was no mere abode “But no one goes there or well, more like I don’t allow anyone there and grandfather has never pried into my garden space”

“Magic, I assume?”

“Of course. Be it any other way my sisters would definitely march in there, for whatever trifle reasons. And I’ve always found spells to be more effective than locks and chains, not like they’d serve a purpose out in the open” the Lady looked lost in her musings for a moment “Well except for fences, which I haven’t thought about... Still enchanted barriers are way better”

Listening to her fluctuating tale he paid more attention to the emotions she emanated rather than the content of the voiced words.

“I’d love to see it”

She smiled at the comment.

* * *

The area was tucked away from the rest of the gardens. Hidden from sight by weeping willows and pale lilac colored wisterias. The barrier she had erected was quite impressive. He could see that it was of Vanir magic, it was easy to tell apart by its weaving. However he could have passed through or broken it.

The Godlings sat down on a large swing that hung down from one of the trees. There they spent a couple of hours talking. Oh, how he had missed Sigyn. She made the Princeling’s fatigue melt away.

He let out a careless laugh and at that moment he did not notice how the Goddess’s gaze started lingering on his hand. Without reserve she took it in hers and roughly pushed the sleeve out of the way. He felt the harshly moved fabric rub his irritated skin.

“What is this?”

He should have known that the girl would not miss it, she had a sharp sense when it came to things laced with magic.

“A concealment spell” the male replied as if avoiding the question altogether.

“I can see that” the female hissed angrily. “You’re not hurt, are you?” she asked with worry tangible in the rushed inquiry.

“No” his answer left as curt as ever.

“What is beneath it?” she was not letting it go and it wasn’t like he was so distrusting as to not tell her. Perhaps it was because the Lie God was not used to uncovering things concerning himself so easily to others, that made him so hesitant.

“Markings left from an enchantment”

“Show me” the girl-woman ordered and he was bound to comply. Although he had to repress a sigh, it wasn’t that he was annoyed but it was simply difficult most of the time to be this open with someone. And so the Master Magician did as requested.

She gasped and uttered, while turning his arm in her hands to look at it closely.

“...Not hurt, yeah right. These, these are... It’s as if they’re inked onto your flesh, no it’s more like the symbols are burned into it... I’ve never seen anything like this. What are they?”

The young God did not offer a retort at the mention of the scarred etchings, for denial would be a blatant lie.

“This particular spell required these symbols to be inland onto the ground, however that is very time consuming as well as not easily removed afterwards, so I modified it. Since it was quite a difficult one, it was not easy to redesign it so fundamentally”

“I’ve never heard of such a technique before” now her eyes shone with wonderment instead of scolding, as she inspected his wounded (but not visibly) arm.

“It is no surprise, really. It is a very rare practice and more than hazardous to even adept users”

“Did you cut them or whatever it is that you did, by yourself? Then that should’ve been quite a lengthy feat”

The young man shook his head.

“No, I had created the redone sigils by hand on parchment, then memorized them. When the magic-craft was in the making they appeared themselves”

“Was it painful and how about now?”

There was a slight pause before he said anything.

“Truth be told, it was unpleasant”

“Then that means that it hurt lots” she missed the fact that he had evaded to respond on what were the sensations now. But it was clear that she understood him well enough to see through his refined words.

The woman’s gaze was drawn to the other hand that was resting in his lap.

“And that one?”

“Yes, the markings are engraved on both of my arms”

“How long will it take until they dissipate?”

“I honestly do not know. It depends on the spell, this one I have tried for the first time so I cannot be sure. If I had to estimate, I would give it a few more days”

“...So what was the spell?” the Lady inquired utterly engrossed in the topic.

“I would gladly tell you but I am afraid I will have to be leaving soon. It is no short theme of conversation either. It would be best to leave it for later, if you do not wish for me to skip any important details” there was far too much interference of Loki’s silver tongue in the innocently-sounding answer.

The girl asked no more about it, nodding in defeat. It was obvious that she was saddened that the God of Lies would have to depart soon. He wasn’t happy for the upcoming separation either.

* * *

Theoric appeared somewhere in the midst of Asgard. His walk was slightly hindered and he looked battle-worn. However he traveled quickly on foot, trying to reach the heart of the realm as soon as possible. The warrior had a mildly confused but resolved expression on his face.

* * *

 

At the entrance of the Golden Palace the Crimson Hawk was immediately recognized by the guards stationed there. They asked no questions and allowed him to pass. It was so because that was their position, they heeded their commands without resistance. To become a guard in the Asgardian fortress one had to be trustworthy and discreet, their serving was of uttermost importance. And more often than not, such honor of serving in security forces was determined by how much the Aesir could be relied upon, rather than their battle skill. The Allfather was that wise to foresee that no information would reach his people without his allowing.      

Given the fact that Theoric seemed to be in a good enough condition, he was not lead to the infirmary first. Odin was already notified of the return, therefore the man was led to him without any detours. The soldier was guided to one of the King’s many halls by one of the guards who did not serve in one of the guarding points, he was more of a messenger than anything else.

As the grand doors were opened the servant bowed to the seated Ruler and announced the arrival of the Hawk. With the Odinfather’s gestured permission he excused himself and left the hall.

After the given recognition of the one that had entered, he approached the Allfather and placed his fist to chest as was the fitting greeting. Once again there was that unsaid order to cease the following of protocol.

Even to an untrained eye it was clear that the God of Wisdom was dissatisfied and it was clear why – he did not accept being left in the blind. Despite the state of the King, he still wore a calm and collected demeanor, which most possibly hid much greater emotions. He spoke without a dramatic pause, so expected of Rulers, but his tone was as imposing as ever.

“Where are your men? Tell me everything, as it all took place. Speak!” reserved but still vastly moved by this unaccounted for occurrence.

“I announce that the enemy has been dispatched, my King” the warrior said with a leveled tone.

The Allfather’s gaze was narrowed, he wanted to press his soldier to go on and reveal the happenings quicker, but he stayed true to his image and waited until the younger God would begin retelling without any prompting. And so the standing man did.

“When we had reached the southern border, your Highness, we came to the sight of Trolls demolishing the wall”

He was immediately interrupted.

“What race of Trolls do you speak of? Had you brought any for questioning?”

That was where Theoric faltered.

“...I-I do not know, Allfather... No, we have left none alive”

Odin was beginning to anger further.

“W-we had slayed them for their crime against Asgard. It was a meager attempt at an invasion and it was quelled swiftly, it lacked any substance”

“And what was their motive behind it?”

“I do not know, my King...”    

It was as the elder Aesir had expected. Gungnir was brought to the ground, the sound of collision was frighteningly loud in the empty chamber. The soldier visibly cringed at it.

“That is why you had to bring their leader or at least one of them for interrogation!”

The Crimson Hawk fell to one of his knees and his eyes did not stray from the ground. With a hint of fright in his voice, which was attempted to be masked with strength of sheer willpower, he said.

“I apologize for my failure, your Majesty. I will receive any punishment you deem fit for my incompetence”

“Tell me how it happened. Most possibly your decision, while foolish, was correct. But the safety of my people comes first, therefore I need to hear what has happened!”

“Yes, my King” he remained in his kneeling position as he continued talking, but with his eyes now uplifted to the Odinfather “The enemy was easily disposed of and when we were already retreating back when something odd happened... I... I don’t even know what it was. I believe it to be connected with witchcraft of some sort. I have never seen anything like it... or felt – perhaps that would be a more accurate word. There was no new enemy in sight but _something_ was in the wind and the horses were frightened. Before I managed to issue an order to the men and do anything, everything just... disappeared”

“Disappeared? What do you mean?” the Ruler of Asgard asked authoritatively with a frown marring his noble features.

“I do not know how to explain it, your Highness. It was as if I had blacked out... and, and when I came to myself, I was further away from the area and none of my men were in sight. Therefore I rushed back to the palace to report the happenings to you, my King”

The newly disclosed information did not ease the powerful God’s discontent.

“I am not sure whether the decisions I’ve made are best, but I had only the realm’s interest in mind. Reporting to you, your Majesty, seemed like the most important thing to do” Theoric continued with his speech “I understand the possible severity of the situation but from what I have seen, I do not think of this occurrence as an attack. Forgive my humble opinion, but it was as if some sort of power from the realm itself had manifested. For if it were otherwise, I would not be present here. I think that the others will also turn up soon, we had been scattered. I had not expected to be the first to arrive”

The Allfather did not voice his opinions on the story one of his Crimson Hawks had told. He could not disagree with the points said, nor agree with them. True, it was not impossible for strange phenomenons to occur. However it was something that had happened much more frequently in the days of his youth, when this world of Yggdrasill was just beginning its age as Odin’s Realm Eternal.

* * *

 

The questioning went on for a lengthy hour. Although every answer the Leader of the Aesir received was void of anything truly useful, making the missing events after the battle hazy and mysterious. However no ill feelings were addressed to the returned soldier, for in reality he could not fault his decisions. No punishment would be issued since it was undeserved. For now all the Odinfather had to do, was be content with waiting and of course send out men to investigate the area, so that they could search for their missing weapon-brothers.    

The Ruler ordered the nervous warrior to not disclose this happening to anyone and the serving God obeyed without complaint. He was dismissed but he still stood and so the Allfather inquired what was on his mind.

“If I may be so bold, my King, but about, about my wedding...”

The one-eyed God of Wisdom replied without letting Theoric continue, he was reminded of the upcoming celebration.

“For now nothing has occurred that would hinder it. Your wedding shall not be delayed” what Odin did not mention, however was that it was more of a strategic move than one meant for the good of the young man. If the wedding would be moved to a later date and without a valid reason, the court would obviously suspect something to be amiss. Gossip would be quick on its wings and in the end the Allfather would have to announce what had occurred in the south region of Asgard. That was unacceptable – causing panic without necessity, to warn the people about a threat that may or may not be present.

The warrior heatedly thanked his Highness and excused himself afterwards. The Crimson Hawk headed straight for his house, where he led a solitary life.  


	11. Passion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains sexual themes (unrealistic, godly sex).

**Chapter eleven**

**_Passion_ **

 

 

Time flew by quickly and it counted merely three days to the wedding when the God of Mischief came again to see his Goddess. He found her in her secret garden at the sea palace of Noatun. The young man easily slipped past the magical barrier that she had surrounded her retreat with. Sigyn was completely engrossed in a book as she sat on the swing. The wind wasn’t salty because it blew not from the direction of the ocean, it carried a pleasant scent of flowers and dew-covered grass.

Loki appeared behind her and loomed over the seated Lady.

“And what has stolen your interest so utterly this time?” he inquired in a playful tone.

With sparkling eyes the Vanir turned to the direction the sound was carried from. She did not flinch startled nor did she seem to care for his close proximity. Her reply was cheery and joyous, followed by a bewitching smile. The Prince’s very insides fluttered in butterfly-wing caress like sensations at the knowledge that it was he who had managed to bring out such a reaction from the girl.

“Loki!”

“In the flesh” he grinned his mischievous signature grin.

She laughed, the laughter was soul-warming.

“I’ve been expecting you”

“Perceived my arrival, had you?” the Heir countered and quirked his eyebrow.

“No, not quite that dramatically” the young woman’s mirth rang lightly in the empty, plant-shaded, secluded area. “You promised to appear and I chose to hold you up on that promise”

“Trusting the God of Lies, one might consider that unwise, dear Sigyn” he wasn’t serious, that much she knew. At times she wondered whether he made it easy for her to decipher his silver-laced words or whether it was blind belief that made it appear to be entirely not difficult to understand him so well.

“Now, now that would lead me to believe that you think of me as naïve”

“Not at all, not at all” the boy-prince smirked.

“Well good” the female uttered the phrase he had thrown her way a couple of times and theatrically pretended to return her interest to the book she held in her hands. The play entertained the green-dressed God and he allowed that to be known with laughter. The female’s resolved and airy expression failed to be upheld and it was slowly taken over by a similar state of mirth that her companion was so immersed in.  

Moments after the vocal cheerfulness had died she inquired.

“Will you be free today? Have you finished the business that you had been stolen by from me?” the tone was light without a bother revealed by it, but the God of Deceit caught the masked tints of sadness in it.

“Yes, I have finished my business for the moment. However, I will be busy for the upcoming days”

She hummed her reply.

“So, care to join me?” she moved away from the swing-set to accommodate the visiting male.

He disappeared in green smoke and apparated on the other end of the hanging seat.

“You’ll have to teach me that one day”

He smiled at the comment.

“I cannot promise that I will because it is something of which I can only explain the basis to you. I have altered this spell and I believe that it can only be molded to fit one’s ability, therefore it cannot be taught”

“So it is your spell then” it was not a question. “You’ve never told me that you had created enchantments”

“It is and yes I have created a few or altered some in order to wield them”

“As expected of the God of Magic”

“Oh you are generous” the Godling said with a smirk.

“Merely the truth” the girl rested her head on her hand, he let out a pleasant-sounding chuckle. His emerald eyes strayed along her form, appreciating the flowing and deep-neck cut violet gown that she wore. It was nearly transparent and shimmered in lights that reminded him of the cosmos that so admirably was visible when standing on the Rainbow Bride – at the highest point of the World Tree – Yggdrasill. The gaze of the Master of Magic travelled across her slightly bent legs and bare feet with nails painted in glinting onyx varnish.

“And so what were you reading before I interrupted you?”

The goddess looked down to the brown leather bound book she had in her hand.

“A spell book” she extended the item of knowledge to her lover(?).

He slunk closer towards her and took the offered book. Opening it he quickly skimmed over the inscriptions handwritten in it. The sorcerer failed to decipher the symbols etched on the thick parchment pages.

“This is in Vanir?”

“Yes it is” came the confirmation of his suspicion. She leaned closer to see the open book better “How peculiar, it usually hides the contents from most. Seems like it has taken a liking to you”

“I am flattered” the God of Mischief continued flipping the pages “It is very much like the very essence of Vanaheim – the concealing itself thing”

“Mhm. A great deal of Vanir things work like that”

“This is the ancient tongue or perhaps the ancient alphabet?”

“Both, depending on what this certain book _feels_ like being. There are some which are strictly one of the things you’ve listed”

“Is it difficult for you to study from it?”

“At times. Really, depends on how something is explained because I am not fluent in the old Vanir or the ancient runes. Either that or the difficulty is attested to the actual skill required for mastering a specific enchantment”

“I see” with that the God returned the borrowed tome. “This is your grandfather’s?”

“Indeed it is” there was a moment of silence before Sigyn said anything else, he could see in the way she worried her bottom lip that there was something else that she was contemplating on telling. Loki waited patiently until she would finish the thinking and voice whatever there was to tell.  

“I’ve noticed that over time grandfather began having trouble with the books and scrolls that he had brought from Vanaheim. I had heard, the first time when I was very little, how he behind the closed doors of his study cursed at them”

“Oh, any theory on why that is so?”

“I believe that they’re angry with him. As the years pass they become wary and unresponsive. I can’t tell whether it is because they feel hurt (or whatever it is that they _feel_ ) because their owner has forgotten about them or whether it is them that are forgetting him”

“Lord Njord was the realm-recognized King? Perhaps this can be connected to the actual _feelings_ of Vanaheim itself?” it was strange for the Dark Prince to converse about inanimate objects having strong feelings about something. It wasn’t a completely unheard of thinking attributed only to the Vanir, attachments and such by things (per example weapons) was believed to be valid in other worlds as well. However such cases like Mjolnir picking out a worthy owner – was not that, since it was purely the Allfather’s magic that weighed the worthiness of the wielder.

“That is very much possible” the Lady said with a contemplative expression. “And yes, he was the Ruler of Vanaheim, by the realm’s choice or with its blessing – that I don’t know”

“So perhaps the fact that your grandfather is no longer King and is slowly, but assuredly, severing ties with his home-world – the reason why the treasures of his library do not serve him as they used to”

The female’s eyes sparkled with a color he had not seen them turn into before – purple. She toyed with her lengthy silver earring.

“You are very observant”

“I try my best”

At his response the Vanir girl giggled.

“Yes, but I don’t think that many would be able to make heads or tails of the nature of Vanaheim. I myself still find everything tied to it to be deep and dark woods. But very, very intriguing ones at that”

“You still have plenty of time to try to figure out the enigma that is your heim-land”

The woman did not remark anything at his last comment.

“Well, anyway, it seems to me that grandfather is simply becoming a stranger to his own ‘dead’ culture. But don’t misunderstand me, he is as powerful as he was before, his abilities over the seas have not diminished even slightly. Although I think that it’s because he gods-over them, it is his element but his archive contains Vanir knowledge and magic – which he had not created himself, least I am sure he hasn’t most of it”

“And your sisters?” the Lie God inquired.

Sigyn snorted.

“They aren’t even remotely interested in Vanaheim or spell-craft. And whenever they see me reading they always ask why am I reading blank books” the answer was followed by laughter, when it silenced she told to the quiet man “Actually, I don’t think that they show their contents to many beings at all, however your admiration for magic and the level of wielding it, was what entitled the book to reveal its secrets”

“I am honored, although it is a shame that I cannot understand what is written in it”

“If you’ll ever want it then I’ll translate it for you. You’ve taught me magic and I wouldn’t mind teaching you. Even if your interest would be purely for theoretical purposes because I am sure you don’t need Vanir enchanting when you’re so gifted in other kinds of magic”

“I would like that” the God of Deceit told the truth.

They spent some time conversing in the gardens until the Asgardian Heir offered to go somewhere else.

“I had picked up a few books that I think might interest you, would you like to go see them?”

“Sure” the girl-woman answered warmly.

* * *

 

They entered Gladsheim discreetly, heading to the boy-prince’s chambers first thing.

Loki opened the grand double-doors with a playful bow. He extended his hand as a gesture to present to her his abode. Sigyn walked in and he reveled in the way awe openly sparkled in her features. She had seen quite a few domes of Rulers but somehow the Prince’s chamber managed to appeal to her liking.

The antechamber was large, all painted in shades of green. There were fine mahogany furniture, dark green curtains and drapes, windows going down to the floor and facing secluded gardens. There was also a huge hewn and polished dark stone fireplace, in which emerald flames burned sinisterly – that was not a surprise – their coloring. There were bookshelves up to the very ceilings, which were centered by a bright flame housing chandelier of finest diamond and wrought iron. The number of writings could rival a small library, oh how the young woman wanted to read them all. Plenty of items attested to a Master of Sorcery were thrown in chaotic order about the room. There were innocent looking vials filled with variously tinted liquids, feathers, hair and fur with not-so-innocently looking ivory bones in gold platters. One of the strange things she noted were the many mirrors of various shapes and sizes in every nook and cranny of the oddly angled chamber.

The princess-not-really-princess whispered her appreciation.

“It’s beautiful”

“Thank you” came the low-volume reply as the Godling closed the doors.

She wanted to touch every item and inspect them thoroughly, but decided against it. The man ushered her to take a seat and there were many places to do so: the exquisite, leather covered sofas accompanied by several armchairs – large enough to accommodate two beings, the comfy looking lounges as well as small pouffes shoved beneath a slightly taller table. There were more than a few green pillows on one of the sofas, in all shapes and sizes and of various materials and ornaments. The wide choice was dizzying, although it was the pleasant kind of vertigo. The girl however chose neither of the listed seating places and curled comfortably straight on the plush green rug. It quirked the corner of the Lie God’s lips and he joined her by lounging on the couch behind her.

With a flick of the male’s wrist an array of fruit and confections appeared on the small table in front of the Vanir. Her now purple eyes lit up in surprise. He didn’t enchant the trays out of thin air, no, the content was borrowed from one of the many kitchens in the palace. However whatever that was taken by magic would not be missed, the sustenance required by Gods spilled like from a horn of plenty.

She eyed two crystalline glasses with intrigue dancing in those dark lilac orbs. With a murmured spell they were filled from a dark green glass bottle, without a muscle moved by the Trickster God. He took one of the twin glasses in hand and said aloud.

“Cheers” with that the young man emptied it in one gulp, like an expert drinker. Although he would have been lying (not something he did rarely after all) if he would have claimed that he was a stranger to alcohol.

The female Vanir collected hers and took a measured sip. Despite the fact that it was a glass initially meant for wine or a similar beverage, it was definitely not filled with it. The liquid was thick and much, much stronger. The texture, in a long shot of a description, reminded of honey, because of its sweetness as well. But it was not mead, no, definitely not mead. It had a vaguely identifiable taste: that of berries and rose water, with something fresh like mint. It wasn’t as rich and bittersweet as the wine he had once brought, this beverage was nearly sickeningly sweet and spicy, very spicy. She decided that she would drink it happily, for it was tasty, very much so. It was good that she (and him both) could hold their liquor well.

The Goddess asked what the drink was, it was a first trying it (for such a beverage was not a forgettable one). He answered with a name she had not heard before, apparently it was from Alfheim. And that did come as a surprise.

“How strange, I had always believed that the Light Elves preferred their drinks to be much purer and that to us, many would be reminiscent of water”

The Golden Throne Heir refilled his glass manually this time.

“Mmmm, yes that is true. It is a very peculiar beverage. It really does contrast with what they usually produce. This is meant for celebrations and more common to the High Elven kin. Even its preparation is difficult and different from their norm. You see, it is made on a certain night by the end of summer, when a moon of theirs that shows itself only every century or so appears. Elves of a certain stature pick the needed produce and it is made by ones of... questionable reputation. This variation of wine, I _believe_ that it is something akin to the drink, has to be done overnight. Then the glass barrels are buried in a certain forest and left to ferment for a whole Alfheim year”

“That is very different from what I’ve heard or read about their food making and consuming traditions”

He plopped a pale grape into his mouth. The God of Mischief inquired.

“Oh? You have researched the Elven culture to such a level?”

The Lady giggled lightly.

“I might make the impression that I know lots about them but that isn’t true. I have read a book on that topic a while ago”

“I do not doubt that you have”

She allowed her gaze to wonder about the antechamber dreamily. It was all _Loki_ , all in artistic disorder – so much like the owner.

“Hmmm, books are such a wondrous thing...”

“Indeed”

Her attention was stolen when she felt the energy of the God of Magic swirl. He rested leisurely on the lounge and in the palm of his hand power twirled in the making of something. The female stared transfixed, she desperately wanted to know what would form from it. And so he conjured an apple, such a feat may have been considered a very novice one – but that could only have been said by a novice. An illusion of an item was one thing, a purely forged object was a completely different story.

The fruit was luscious but not overly large, fitting perfectly in the Godling’s hand. It was luminescent and caught the light of the well illuminated chamber. So succulent and tempting red, so vibrant in its hue and so inviting. The man bit into the apple demonstratively, being well aware of the sole spectator. The girl could hear the sound of the juicy piece of fruit’s skin being pierced. And then instantly as the Master of spell-craft began tearing his teeth away from it, it blackened, turning completely black. Not rotten – no, a rotten piece of fruit was never of such a tint, even more of such a glinting, polished blackness.

Without a word, he handed the scorched apple to Sigyn. She looked back at him, noticing his satisfied smirk and took a bite. It didn’t taste like an apple she’d ever consumed, it was nothing like one. It didn’t even resemble a fruit. Such a powerful taste overpowered her taste buds, it was that of caramelized sugar, of slightly burnt caramelized sugar – minus the gooiness. The woman chewed and did not care that she spoke with her mouth still full.

“What is this?”

“Merely a conjured apple. I could produce one of the traditional kind, this one is spiced up all by me. I have been practicing conjuring objects and familiars because I feel that I have yet to perfect that art”

“You’re well on your road to do that” she bit again into the luscious burnt fruit again “I’m not giving it back”

The God of Lies laughed.

“Be my guest. I am pleased to please you”

The boy-prince brought the books he had been telling about previously. Of course it did not come as a surprise that the Lady was interested in all of them.

“I wish I could take them all with me. Any chance I could borrow them?”

“But of course, take them all”

“I’ll return all once I will finish reading them”

“There is no need to do that. You can take them for forever if you wish”

“Can I?” there was disbelief in that tone.

“Yes, you can. It is a pleasure to appease your taste in literature”

* * *

 

The two young Gods conversed, laughed, ate and drank for a long time. The Vanir noticed the room’s temperature to be on the cool side, despite the burning hearth, not that she minded. It was just like a perfect summer evening with a fresh breeze, an open window with heavy-looking yet light, swaying curtains, supplied the chill wind. Evening was falling in Realm Eternal.

“Where is Njord?” the Princeling was far too relaxed to address the man with proper titles and he knew that his companion would not care. Her attention was immediately turned to him, with a sip he continued to explain his question that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere “I ask because he is not in the palace and I do not know when he shall be returning back to Noatun”

The alerted Goddess was quelled by the elaboration of the royal one’s inquiry.

“He is away on business. I’m not sure where he’s at, at the moment. It has something to do with the seas and the fishermen – his duty of the element he gods-over. He should be back tomorrow morning or afternoon”

“Good” was the answer, although she understood why he was interested in the subject.

The male drank the umpteenth glass, although the bottle did not empty. She was more reserved in her drinking, not that it would trip her rationality. The girl was quiet for a moment and swirled the sweet and strong liquid in the glass that she held.

“I can’t believe that only three days are left...” that theme bothered her greatly, she had to simply get it off her chest “My plans have failed so miserably and I’m supposed to be the Goddess or at least the one to reign over fortune. Guess that didn’t include luck on my own behalf” Sigyn said humorlessly.

“You worry too much” it was a cryptic remark from the lounging Heir, still she wanted to garner more of a reply than that.

“I know that it may seem trifle to you but it matters to me very much...”

“I will take care of it all and the dreaded event should not trouble you”

“I can’t help it--”

He interrupted her.

“Cease with this mood-killing conversation. It will be fine” he made move to stand up “Come now, there is something else I would like to show you”

And for the time being the gloomy subject was discarded, now he was her sole interest, even if by thievery.

“There is one book I have not shown you yet. I believe that it will be the crown one and it deserves your attention more than _that_ ” Loki stood up and was slowly getting further away “I will bring it to you shortly”

It seemed that the bewitching Lady was not keen on being left alone and she scrambled to her feet. It was not a nuisance if her presence were to follow him. However something descended into his circle of observations – when and where had she taken off her shoes? While she was still in the process of catching up to him – gracefully and not even slightly intoxicated as was visible to the judging eye, he was already solving this tiny mystery. The lavender high-heels with precious stones on their ornate straps were gone and when the Trickster scanned his conscious and subconscious with added care, he came to the realization that as she sat on the carpet she was already barefoot. However she had entered the room with footwear still on her lithe feet – the difference in her height as well as the pleasant to his ears _clicking_ sound – had testified that assumption.

Once the beauty was beside him, he continued his regal stride (even in his chambers he did not discard his grace). What she did not see was the mischievous smirk, it was born from a mundane observation. And yet it still managed to entertain him – the fact that she had used magic to be rid of her clinking shoes and he had not noticed the exact moment she did it.  

This time he entered the room without presenting it to his guest first, courtesy was momentarily forgotten because it reminded too much of the proper etiquette he loathed fervently – when it was shared by force between them. The envy-green God could lie and paint in beautiful colors all that propriety and it was even at worst merely the half-truth when directed at the woman, who followed him now. Alas if it were from her end – it was unbearable, far too unnatural and faux for his liking.

With the first step he took inside his bedchambers the many, many (and there were truly a lot of) candles lit up in an emerald blaze. Unlike the roaring fireplace, these calm flames did bathe the chamber in their eerie color. No matter that many would believe it to be a haunting spectacle, she loved it. Not sparing a glance back, the God of Mischief walked deeper into his sanctuary. The retreating God lost her gaze, which had previously imbedded itself into his back. She was dazed by the room that was new to her sight. The Vanir ventured into it assuredly, something whispered to her that being here was akin to finding out a secret, a very big secret. The thought thrilled her.

Unabashedly she plopped down onto his bed and studied his bedchambers completely amazed. The bedposts went all the way up to the high ceiling, which glinted in thousands of lights that reminded her of either the Will-o’-Wisps that she sought in Vanaheim by his suggestion or fireflies. His abode was already secluded, as well as this room, but even so there were curtains hanging down from the polished wood bedposts, and thus would make any slumbering occupant hidden. The light and transparent curtains however now where tied and did not fluctuate freely. The woman smiled to herself – this told her something about her contractor, layers upon layers, secrets upon secrets – that was his true being. And he may have loved enigmas but her love for them could easily rival his.

Her bare feet dangled from the edge and that wasn’t all that surprising though, the owner of this huge bed was a very tall man. The mattress was soft and it did not creak as she so daringly, without the approval of the Lie God, rested her bottom upon it. Sigyn treaded her fingers through the bedding, the dark green, silken sheets were so pleasant to touch.

The glances were swift but careful not to miss a thing. Despite the tainted lighting she was sure that the room was in a darker green palette then the antechamber. It was also... softer, the many swaying see-through curtains created such an image. The intrigued female noted the vast mahogany wardrobe, which definitely extended into a whole separate area as well, though it was clear that Loki was a vain God – so it wasn’t surprising. She bit her lip, she liked that about him. However, again there was this odd number of ornate mirrors, some even covered with thick drapes – somehow she was sure not to attest this to his vanity, it had to be connected with magic. The female dropped the inward thought, she would have to reserve it for later.

When he had retrieved the book from atop the nightstand he was well aware that the Goddess had chosen to take a seat at the foot of the bed. Once he stood in front of her he was stunned for a second into silence (she of course missed it). It was simply unfathomable how she simply fit into the picture, as if she was meant to be there, on _his_ bed. He was struck by the image. The Godling had to shake himself mentally, where had his mind wandered to?

With a smirk he gave her the said item. The many candles in the candelabras were willed to brighten to a normal flame. While he was used to the darkness and they were both Gods that could deal with such minor inconveniences, he still thought it to be better to accustom to her possible preferences in lighting. She carefully turned the pages of the small, black leather bound book.

“I have finished reading it recently. It is a forbidden book, ciphered to hide its content. However I am sure that it is in your abilities to decode. It covers a small expanse of the cosmos _outside_ of Yggdrasill”

The young woman lifted her head to meet his gaze, the words that showed her gratitude were whispered.

“Thank you”

He opted to answer in a simple way, without the cleverness of his silver tongue.

“You are welcome”

The book was laid softly beside her. Those ever-changing eyes were cast away from him and of a watery, murky pale blue. It clashed terribly with her violet garb. Whatever she would utter next – he knew he would not like it.

The orbs met his.

“Loki...” the use of his given name in this way... this would not bode well “How are you planning to stop the wedding?”

He knew it, he just knew it. That mournful tone was guilt-inspiring but he would not relent.

“Sigyn, just drop it. Everything will be taken care of, I promise. Do you not trust me?”

“Yes...” that did not sting as badly as it should have, probably because he was used to this. Although there was no time to contemplate her distrust for she continued “No... I don’t know... I do trust you but just with this... with this, I wouldn’t trust anyone, not even myself” the female sighed “I know that it may not seem of great importance to you, alas for me--”

The Lie God interrupted.

“I know what it is to you, I understand that. It is in my best interests to help you”

“Then why can’t you tell me what will be done, what should I do?” she did not cease.

“But where would be the surprise in that?” the deceiver said carelessly as if jesting with what worried her so terribly.

“Still, even if the element of surprise is toned down, surely it would not be that much of a loss” the girl pressed on.

If some of the cards would have to be uncovered to quell that great unease – then so be it.

“Understand, if something were to go awry you would not be part of this, therefore you would not fall under question. In case of an unimaginable disaster you would be safe, you would know nothing and so no spell could pull anything hazardous to your person out into daylight” an unlikely scenario, however what he said was true and the seriousness in his voice was not fake.

“I’m not afraid of repercussions, if that would happen I would not betray you--”

“That is not the point. Norns forbid, if there would be suspicions you could befall to pain!” the honesty had to be repressed and glazed with calmness, for it was coming out rapidly and with specks of anger in it.

“I. can. bare. it.” the sentence was cut as if with a knife, each word emphasized. It was silent rage that emanated from her being.

“I do not want you to bare it!” he was far too close to shouting. The inwardly destabilized Prince smoothed back his dark locks. “Please,” he was never one to plead but he did so for her “Do not ask me again. I do not doubt your strength or your will. I just wish for you to be away from danger, Sigyn”

He did not face her, she continued to observe him. No more was said on the theme, some voice inside told her that this for now was a taboo. Oh and was he stubborn! Now the Lady found a legitimate connection between his character and the golden-tinted horned helmet that was part of his armor. The God of Mischief was as stubborn as an auroch – a taurus! She knew that she could not force him to reconsider. Perhaps, perhaps she could break the stubbornness but there was something that whispered hauntingly that it would not be the only thing that would shatter. And she would not be able to mend whatever that would fall into sharp pieces, all that would be left would be grieving for the broken that she could not repair.

Minutes trickled by and the boy-prince managed to return to a state of normalcy. He smiled to the windows and the imposing moon beyond but she could not see his expression. There were those same _clicks_ , this time softened by the carpet. And when her head came to rest almost atop of his shoulder, it was testament enough that the girl-woman had used magic to return her footwear back to place – which was funny because he did not notice when she did it, again. His Goddess stood close, oh so very deliciously close to him. Her front flush against his back. Clearly it wasn’t what he said that made her seek him out in such contact, so he waited to find out the cause.

What she said was so unexpected that it struck him like a slap from Mjolnir. He was sure that had he been drinking something he would have choked.

“ _Sleep with me_ ” there was nothing overly seductive in her tone but it was confident and serious.

The God of Lies was glad that with his honed abilities the shock did not reverberate through his form. He gathered his bearings instantly and turned back to her, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

“While that is definitely a pleasant suggestion, I must ask for your reasoning”

And with that everything died on him as Sigyn could not withstand his emerald gaze. Those unpleasantly watery blue eyes betrayed her.

“However unlikely, but if it were to happen...” she got sidetracked “And as you well know...” a glare was issued after which the woman returned to her previous demeanor that he did not like “If Theoric... If on the wedding night he...” it was difficult for her to speak “I just want you to be the first...”

Loki could not choose whether to feel relieved by the explanation or not. For one, he clearly understood her plight but it was also insulting that he was simply the more preferable option and nothing more.

“Knowing that it will not happen, _I will not let it happen_. And with that removed from the equation, the question arises – would you still want me?”

She looked back at him. The girl had said that her hair changed its color only when she was travelling and it was (as he gathered) a slow transition. But oh Norns was it changing! Her curled hazel hair was straightening but still remained thick. The color was of cherry, nearly burgundy, red.

“ _Yes_ ” she answered and there were no signs of mistruth in her reply.

A permanent grin seemed to plaster itself onto the face of the God of Deceit.

“ _Good_ ” was the drawn out and simplistic response.

And with that it had to end, this is how he foresaw it. But of course, this was the enigmatic Vanir Goddess, someone who rejected any canons he attempted to push her into.

The expression he wore did not waver as her little hand grasped the front of his coat and tugged him down almost to her level.

“ _Now_ ” as the Lady said it her eyes were narrowed and now of such a wicked, wicked green.

“I have to ask you, are you sure that you want me?” the questions irritated her, he could see it “I ask because I will not ask again” he gestured absently with his hand “Of course you can stop this at any time but I will not ask” the role of a romanticized lover irked him. He was and would always be himself without any scripted inquiries. And she was not a shy maiden either. He just wanted to get that straight, he would not play along to any unwritten ‘rules’.

“ _I want you_ ” the Vanir hissed it, her eyes shined as was often greeted in the nature of her kin.

His grin intensified, if that was even possible, and he offered no reply. All the young God did was seal their lips in a fiery kiss. His tongue was pushed into her mouth and she responded to him just as fervently. The lights were dimmed but not to their previous tinted flame because the Master of Magic wanted to see the room and _her_ without the green overpowering all.

They constantly stopped only to catch a breath. The tempo of the kiss slowed. The Godlings moved to the center of the bed. Loki hovered over Sigyn, while his hands wandered. Her smooth and warm skin felt so divine beneath his exploring palms. The very idea of what he was doing sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. But something was amiss – his _lover_ was tense. He quickly summarized what it was and the revelation brought no joy to him. This wouldn’t do and he had to change it.

“Stop thinking about it, _love_. I am not Theoric” her breathing hitched. The Prince vented his frustrations on the flesh of her bare shoulder, in between nips he said “Stop. thinking. about. him. or. I. will. not. continue.”

She offered no vocal reply to the warning, alas he was serious about it. He simply could not do this if her mind would not be focused onto solely the mischievous Heir. The Goddess’s fingers tangled into his black locks and she forcefully brought him down. Her mouth found his in an adamant kiss – he knew that it was her agreement. Her tongue was pushed into his mouth and she dominated the passionate kiss, he did not resist. The way she played with her power, even though she was physically beneath him, was thrilling.

With a burdened complaint from his lungs, the Trickster God broke the contact. His breathing was pleasantly labored. As the contact was severed he observed her as she murmured an incantation. The footwear that had adorned her lithe feet disappeared with runes appearing in the air like embers from a flaming pyre. It was most certainly Vanir magic. Next her jewelry was removed in the same fashion but it reformed itself on one of the twin nightstands. He reckoned that the shoes had also been moved somewhere in the real world and not the negative space.

The dreaded wariness returned however as the girl’s hand went to her unbound hair. She was so magnificent that being focused into her had completely obliterated that significant fact before – that damned flower was still on her person. And the deadly bloom had always lingered on the edge of the man’s subconscious. The reason was because it unnerved him – Sigyn was different from him in that sense. And that _memento_ could have played the main role in her fatalistic nature. That was one of the opposites between them – he was a survivor, she was not. While a great deal of things might have frightened him, revenge was a crucial part of his thinking pattern, therefore he never opted for an easy end.

The Death Flower was reluctantly untangled from her dark red locks. He could let out a relieved sigh at that, instead he clasped her small wrist. And for the first time it was obvious how close he was to the dead plant from the Unnamed Realms. The Godling could sense and smell the decaying aura emanating from it. He failed to understand how in all of Yggdrasill did she like it – that was simply unfathomable. While her eyes apprehensively studied his tight hold, he said without jest present in his tone.

“Promise me Sigyn, promise that you will not use it unless the situation is truly dire. Only when there is no escape and if Theoric will be in the position I am now, that only then will you use it. Promise.” he was fretting. If she considered the wedding to be her end, then she may not wait it out to see his plot come to fruition. The female was hasty and he was aware of that, it was in her repertoire to easily make decisions that others found nearly impossible to. And this would be of apocalyptic measures to him, he could _not_ allow this to happen.

She looked him straight in the eye as she swore to him.

“I promise”

The male was capable of filtering lies, alas in his existence he had met beings that were difficult to decipher. She was definitely of that category and not at the same time. There was nothing, which would hint at mistruth. But judging from the aspect of body language, the way she met his gaze immediately – could have been a sign of a lie being told. Eyes were the windows to the soul or so the ancient teachings claimed. If that was correct then he was an exception to the rule, as in all actuality were many others. That acclaimed constant was something masses believed in and accomplished liars played on that belief. So when she did not spare a glance somewhere away in contemplation, he felt fractured like light traversing through a cut gem – so shattered into many conflicts.        

The hold tightened tenfold, the young man’s hand shook from the strain. At the moment he didn’t care that he hurt her. He was pressuring her to reassure him and she complied.

“ _I promise_ ” the words were uttered tenderly but seriously.

He was not convinced but in reality nothing would have managed to do it. So he quickly released her wrist as if disgusted with the fact that he had hurt her. It was ironic how while she meant so much (and somehow he hated that) but this was not the first and _not the last_ that his actions would inflict physical pain to his beloved Goddess, even if unintentionally.

The Lady slowly rolled away and moved towards the edge of the huge bed. She placed the horrid bud on the very same surface her accessories rested upon. Then she returned to her former position at the center of the mattress. Figuratively it felt like a huge burden had been lifted from the Golden Throne Heir’s shoulders. However his mind was clouded by what he had done, it still weighed him down.

His lips attached themselves to her neck. The kisses were light and quick, like soft morning rain – this was his apology, his begging for forgiveness – although unneeded. However, soon the guilt was eradicated and that was unintended. The nearly-transparent violet dress was raised as his hands traced her legs. There was no way he could will himself to stop and so her neck was gifted with languorous attentions. His fingernails grazed her thighs, the young woman was responsive, he could tell by the way her body oh so slightly arched towards him. Her hands did not idle, one had a firm hold on his clothed upper arm, while the other traced the hairline on the back of his neck – it was chill inspiring.

He only acted upon the impulse, for rationality melted away by the second. Had the God of Magic thought clearly upon it, he would have realized that that would definitely leave a mark, which would have to be hidden with a glamour or a choker. The side of her neck was ravished possessively. He sucked and bit with vigor and his teeth weren’t merciful at all. She did not seem to mind, her hands only tightened their grasp on him. Those dainty fingers of hers pulled at the looming male’s hair, however not for the purpose of making him cease. They both enjoyed the lustful abuse. He attacked that pale flesh with added force because he wanted her to pull harder. The female did not disappoint and the two pushed each other further. When the pressure on his scalp was threatening to tear the skin from his head he released her neck with a gasp.

The God of Mischief smirked at her sinisterly and traced his thumb across her painted lips, the pale paint had not been smudged. The long nail of his finger brushed above her upper lip, she enjoyed the sensation. The Vanir attempted to bite his softly touching digit but it avoided her brilliantly. He could feel the hot exhales on his thumb. She closed her eyes and the man marveled at her expression: the way those long lashes curled and how the heavy eye-shadow shimmered in the semidarkness.

His fingertips trailed down then up and her gaze met his. The Godling took the girl’s chin and kissed her softly, meaningfully. As he pulled away his touch moved down. He watched as her body like a magnet lifted as his fingers ventured. The Lie God unconsciously licked his lips when his hand lingered in the valley of her breasts. The dress was deeply-cut and the top was made so that it would uplift the wearer’s chest, it was delicious. The constellations in the purplish gown swirled.

He moved his weight so that he could kiss the skin he had touched but was stopped as Sigyn’s hands came to rest on his shoulders. She slowly began to push the green leather coat off of his form. He allowed her to do as she pleased and when it was pushed down to his elbows, the God of Deceit removed it himself. The piece of clothing landed on the floor without a sound. Loki wanted to continue with his spontaneous yet carefully inlaid plan. Apparently she had other ideas. He could feel through the tunic he wore the short nails skimming slowly across his back. The challenging look she was giving him and her teasing fingernails were indicating well enough to tell what she desired. The Trickster complied and removed the garment. It descended to the ground as her hand found leverage on his back and a butterfly kiss was pressed to his upper abdomen. And that miniscule feathery touch managed to make his stomach flip. The inner sensations were not shown outwardly and without skipping a beat he leaned down to ravage her mouth. The sweet taste of the drink they had shared still lingered on her lips.

The Goddess’s hands explored the exposed flesh, admiring his lean physique and firm musculature beneath. The skin was so cool and it felt so good to touch. The God of Lies enjoyed the feeling for some time. Selfishly concentrating on the pleasurable caressing of his bare torso, without doing anything. He could have been sated only by that and reveled in the feeling of what she did for all night. But despite that, the young Asgardian royalty brought her exploration to an end. He carefully yanked the sheet from beneath the Vanir and then resettled his weight so that he could remove the cover from underneath himself. It was moved to the side of the large bed.

He wanted to return his attention back to her but was stopped by slight scratches just above the line of his trousers. The young woman had a mischievous expression and he mirrored it with one of his own. The Lie God understood what she intended to do and did not oppose. So she wished to rid him of his clothing while she was still dressed – that was very much like her. And when she met no resistance to her desire, based purely on playful dominance, her fingernails were dragged down past his lower abdomen. The girl traced the belt buckle and undid it slowly. When the tight dark leather garment was pushed past his hips, he intervened and got rid of it with magic. The trousers were left on the floor – forgotten.

Her wrists were caught in his hand and raised above her head. He did so because he was not sure whether she would demand that he be disrobed to full nakedness. The Prince did not mind that per say, however it was far too early for that. And she was still in that (now annoying) flowing gown. Such a minx, he would not allow her to get what she wanted without fulfilling his own whims. Before she could try and free her constricted arms, he kissed her on the lips as means of distraction. Of course it worked, that is if she really did find her plot to be hindered by his meddling.

Bliss had overtaken her and before Sigyn could act, the God of Mischief brought his hands onto her form. He moved them down her chest. It was no surprise that with how the dress was made, to push those perfect breasts up, that the front material over the mounds was thicker. Oh, but he wanted her to _feel_ his touch, however the fabric did not let it happen. It was not with a heavy heart that he decided to get it out of the way. The nearly-nude God grinned fiendishly.

Her lidded, light-green and shinning eyes watched him curiously. No ties, no buttons – a mystery indeed. Tugging at the corner of the garment he found that it stretched well and so the puzzle was solved. Still, the gown form-fitted far too well (not that he disliked that, not at all) to rely on stretchiness alone. No wonder, a magician like the female beneath him could have easily enlaced her energy in the material for it to sit so perfectly.

He bit his lip but did not ask for approval – he was not that type of man. The Heir’s fingers took each strap in hand and due to the elastic nature of them began the removal with ease, with a slight movement of her arms she aided. Soon the straps were no longer on the girl but the dress still held its place. And there was the confirmation – magic was definitely involved. He carefully grasped the corners of the top, fingers dipping below the décolleté of the violet gown. Slowly he began moving it downwards. Agonizing inch by agonizing inch (and it was all that on his side though). The God of Deceit did not rush his pace even when the piece of clothing moved without any resistance down her slim waist (he focused only on the material although there were nude areas that called to his attention much, much more), the slight difficulty returned only as it was brought down past her hips. Then she bent her knees and gracefully uplifted one leg to him. As he slowly took the pooling dress off of her, while helping keeping the smooth and long limb in air, the male kissed each revealed measure of skin softly.

When the light piece of clothing was tossed away it descended as easily and soundlessly as its weight suggested. When he turned back with a smirk his eyebrow rose in question. Sigyn’s legs were bent and crossed confidently. But exactly when had her cherry-red hair managed to cover her chest? Obviously, the Master Sorcerer had missed the moment. He returned to loom above her. And that delicious, oh so very delicious area had to be obscured. Well, he would have to fix that it seemed. It was adorable however, the way the locks laid only atop the centers of each small mound and did not hide anything else. It added mystery and spice to the visage. Then again, he could make the strands of hair fall away without interfering directly or magically. The God of spell-craft could win this game – because that is how he saw this little hint of defiance.

His finger touched the hollow of her throat and then moved deliberately and teasingly to her navel. On her warm skin it most possibly felt like a piece of ice being dragged down her form, forcing his little lover to arch and toss her head slightly from side to side. The tresses slid to her shoulders. He grinned at the success. Slender hands covered pert breasts and a shaky breath was the reply. It was not prolonged touches that made him feel tiny pricks in the center of his palms. No, it was the stark coldness of his flesh that caused it. Loki’s feathery contact lost its lightness and he pressed more firmly. He sighed – touching her was akin to being showered in kind rays of a sun.

His mouth covered hers, the response was immediate. The Princeling believed that he had heard the barest sounds of protests as the contact was severed. His hands worked their physical magic. The Goddess, _his_ Goddess was the very definition of divine. Kisses were issued to her jaw and lowered until one of his possessive limbs lost its battleground and had to be laid to rest atop the sheets. Wet cold-heat enveloped her breast. An audible gasp escaped the creature beneath. It was nothing of what you could hear upstairs and behind doors in a tavern. The God of Trickery had already long before decided that the correct word would be ‘mewl’ because it was the most accurate description for something so indescribable.

Her fingers sought out his hair and grasped it as if with the intent of not letting him get away. He would have chuckled at it but his mouth was occupied at the moment. It varied from kisses, licks and vigorous suckling. She couldn’t keep still, even when teeth pinched the pale pink peak.

Her breathing so labored that it was easy to believe that the Vanir had forgotten how to pace it evenly. That might have been surprising if he wasn’t beginning to share the trait. Numbed but still functioning properly his mind devised a further plan of action. Spidery fingers trailed along the side of her waistline, bold enough to venture further. They hooked the strings of her undergarment and were about to pull it down. Just then the God of Mischief realized that it would require the attention of the Lady for it to be removed smoothly. With a flicker of a spell the ties separated, only to be mended later. The young man quickly disposed of the last piece of clothing. She was none the wiser to what had transpired. His conscious was conflicted, debating on whether he wanted to make her aware (he did) or rather whether it was for the best to leave her unaware. The God chose to leave it untold because what would have been the point to incorporate magic if he could have simply brought her attention to the matter.

With a glistering trail the Master of Magic switched his attention to the other mound. Briefly he wondered whether he should explore again the course of action he had in Vanaheim. It seemed like a good idea, for he still remembered the shortcomings of rushing in (not that he really was). Alas it was getting difficult to form coherent thoughts and perhaps it would be best to leave his silver tongue at its current sweet place – swirling around a darkened bud; he could always adapt after further inspection.      

The wayward touch was treading measuredly, not wishing to startle the immersed girl. However, of course there was a gasp born from unexpectedness when the Lie God’s fingers pressed to the apex of her thighs. Although there was nothing more than that and he had pulled away from her delicious breast to perceive her expression and it was not wary or a variation of it in the very least. His lips returned to the place they had claimed before, the means of distraction was working so well that it seemed that his stilled, questioning appendages were left unfelt. However when his fingers traveled up and down, the young woman’s muscles were reacting in an appreciating way.

And the index and middle fingers of the Prince’s right hand dared more, their touch lingered by the entrance to her core. He had to stifle a groan into her skin, blazing heat had met him and despite touching without an intrusion, he could feel the wetness. Exactly this kind of permission the God of Deceit had missed the first time. He inwardly winced at that vibrant memory of her body’s tenseness, when his tongue had impaled Sigyn, and he didn’t like the wording at all. Despite this unconscious acceptance it didn’t change the facts of said happenings against that tree, therefore only the index finger pressed inside, slowly and carefully. The Heir sucked at her breast more fervently. What the action meant to do, was still not enough to lessen the slight shock that traversed through the female. The tightness of her warm insides was unchanged. The male doubted the efficiency of waiting when the movement was so slow, therefore he pulled back and then repeated the action without stopping.

He probably would not have picked up the barely there sound of slight discomfort (although her rigid physique was speaking for itself) if he were not so close. The humming of her chest was grating on him, with what he failed to identify and did not wish to consider the factor of guilt. One way or another it was far too difficult to concentrate on what he was doing, the God of Lies had to see the Goddess’s face. He followed the wish and the expression she wore was not as burdened as he had feared. If he were not the infamous lie-weaver then he wouldn’t have seen it at all – her unease, just a tiny clench of her jaw. Her gaze met his steadily in a glimmering loving which Loki had not expected. He joined their lips, the shallow movements of his hand unceasing.  

Only after many minutes did the rhythm quicken, although it could not have been described as fast. The movement was foretold – she would soon begin to move accordingly but it did not happen because he added a second finger. Her form stilled once more and a wheeze of complaint so silent – barely there, escaped the beautiful creature. Such a rare feeling encased him (and that was something solely she could bring out from him), it was guilt. Was he again too eager? Not for his own gain but he did so because he was somehow aware that perhaps, despite his attempts, the Vanir’s body would not be prepared as well as he hoped.

Time passed and she started to sway into his hand, her godly physique quivering and quiet, pleased sounds were stroking his hearing. The mischievous man appreciated how her legs were consciously or not brought about his arm. Not for the reason of stopping him but to somehow hold his fingers inside her flaming body. Steadily she was climbing to the clouds, alas his frown could not be hidden (she was lost too much in the haze to register it, even as she tried to look at him). Surely, she was wet and his slick fingers slid easily but it was not enough. He tried to spread them wide but to no avail, that tightness stayed the same. The boy-prince wanted her to take him in without the unnecessary hurting, alas what he did seemed to not change anything at all.

She gasped – so close. Yet even with his mind’s wandering he kindled her flames with skill he did not possess. But the God was confident, despite the lack of experience, he knew that he could please her. Alas his psyche warred: should he press on for a second and a third time or should he join their flesh completely after the first fall? He was stricken. The male knew that he’d require all the night to love her thoroughly (he was confident about that, although there were no reasons to be) and was it worth it to try and make a change, although he doubted the success(?) More questions and no decisions arose in him.

The attention was brought back to reality when her core clenched around his submerged spidery appendages. Similar yet so different from when he first made her undergo this height of pleasure, now he could vividly feel the spasms of her muscles. The speed climbed in order to satisfy, emerald eyes stalking the blissful face. Somehow it pierced his very being with a sensation akin to opening a book of forbidden and dangerous magic – intoxicating, yet this was unexplainably more. The clenches intensified in force and became less orderly, happening chaotically. What power he held over her, it was far greater than he could have imagined. The girl mewled although he could see the attempts at silencing the quiet sounds.

As the eye of the storm quelled, the God of Mischief mimicked the slowing throbs in the pace of the shallow thrusts. As it ended so did his wicked fingers, left unmoving inside. He watched as the disorientation caused by the climax (of which he was the culprit) ebbed away. When her lidded eyes, drown in dark painted lashes, found his, his hand slipped away from her. The Lady let out a sound because of it – and not the happy kind. Her overly hypersensitive skin was not inviting any touch. Her breathing returned to normalcy under his utter surveillance and the Godling did not hide the smugness that he felt.

His further plan of action was void but soon his gifted brain knew what to do, mischief – he was not named for naught. By that moment her body had already cooled somewhat from what he had inspired it to undergo (or at least he hoped that it was). And so the God of Lies was about to put his soaked fingers in his maw and suck on them demonstratively and provocatively, knowing all too well that it would embarrass the female as well as rouse a bit of anger at his flamboyant behavior (a conqueror would not like being bested by another that held the same title).

Keen orbs that were loving and glowing became sinisterly delighted. The young Prince’s plans were thwarted for a second and it was all that was required for her schemes to be acted upon. The female brushed the clothed area of his body slightly with her leg and did not stop, continuing with the fleeting contact. The air was knocked out of the Heir’s lungs. It was completely baffling, incomprehensible even, that he had failed to take notice of his own arousal. So utterly focused onto her and his inner conflicts of worthiness – that it made him forget himself entirely. Now though, when the looming one had difficulties with keeping himself balanced on his arms, fingers clenching the sheets furiously, the attention was all on his ignored body. And damn it all to the Unnamed Realms, he was more than ready. The strokes made it difficult to breathe and he was about to wipe that arrogant expression by stopping this.

Perhaps she took pity on the Asgardian royalty atop her form but she allowed her bare leg to rest on the mattress. So, the torture that the Goddess made him undergo had ceased. It was much easier to breathe and still far too difficult to deal with the discomfort his tight undergarment caused. Sigyn’s nails felt longer (there was no time to contemplate that strange fact) as they scratched in asking just above the waistband of the black garment. She didn’t break the contact of their gazes, hers so challenging and he never backed away from a challenge (within reason of course, he did not get along well with losing).

Loki retreated briefly, she did not reach out for him but that pout was adorable. What a playful, playful little woman! He knew what she wanted and it was clear that she would get it. The discarded dark green cover was retrieved and it covered him from mid-back down, draping over the two lovers. The God of Magic wished it to be so, not really sure why. There was no sense in the thin sheet for it would not warm her at all and his chill body, despite what was to come, could cool her.

He hovered, waiting for her to do as she pleased. Reveling in her dominance the young woman held his gaze firmly with a game-lit fire shinning in her stunning eyes. She didn’t need to see what she was doing, without fail her hands were swiftly resting on his hips. The silken sheets felt good on his flesh, yet that was the last thing on his mind. Forcefully with added Vanir energy the girl ripped the Lie God’s last article of clothing away, it was returned from beneath the covers and tossed somewhere in the chamber carelessly.

The triumphant expression did not leave her beautiful face. Her fingers traced his hipbones. The God of Deceit did not know whether she was going to do something to compromise his still very much dominant position, so before the Lady could do anything – he acted. Something in him assuredly claimed that she would manage to get him undone and that was not what he wanted. He shifted more of his weight onto his knees and his hands rested upon hers, guiding them upwards along the line of his torso. She closed her eyes and hummed in approval, then he shifted to retrieve the former leverage his arms had supplied. Her dainty hands that rested on his ribcage were brought caressingly to the center of his chest until her fingers crisscrossed.

The palm of the God of Lies traveled beneath her navel and stilled there. She did not question his actions and did not flinch when his electric power dove beneath her skin. He found that she was infertile at the moment. However he still murmured an incantation with great care, making sure that conceiving would be fruitless. Perhaps it was unnecessary but what if he was wrong? It was better not to take any risks.

Lips like frost kissed her neck and throat, Sigyn turned her head to allow him better access. His form was oh so close to her and she spread her legs to accommodate him. Fingers on thighs did not request but made do themselves by opening those long limbs as much as was possible. Flesh on flesh – it was unimaginable and the Prince barely suppressed a gasp at the more than pleasant contact.

It would have been much easier to guide his throbbing length into her himself, yet much less graceful. The Throne Heir of Realm Eternal however placed his hand beneath her waist and angled her body to him. He did not ask, he said that he wouldn’t, so without any vocal agreement he pushed towards her core. And there really was no need to inquire, the woman had no objections. Inhumanly slowly he pressed on. She lost the battle against a strained and pained sound, he stopped with only the very tip buried. The feeling was so unexpected despite any believed to be smart estimations. The tightness and scorching heat were unbearable. The Godling willed any blind lust-driven thoughts away and if he were coherent, he would have been surprised by the fact that there weren’t any.

Faulty choice or not, there was no valid reason to back down, so the young man moved into her. He was sure that he was ripping and tearing her apart, the burden of such a knowledge (more accurately _feeling_ ) was heavy. The Lady’s fingernails dug into his back, her tensed body arched and pert breasts touched his chest. The difficulty of it all (not the speed but the wish to simply cease and pull away) was grand, the God had to stifle escaping groans into the side of the girl’s neck.

The barrier was met and the movement paused. As lethargic as his thinking process was, it was still able to process the course of action. There was no use to proceed slowly tearing her – that would only prolong the hurt. Swift and unmerciful was the only choice. The Dark Prince kissed Sigyn on the lips in order to swallow any sounds he so did not wish to be cause of. Powerfully he joined their bodies completely, he felt her hymen break. Her form twisted underneath his full weight. He had sworn to devour everything her throat would release to reality but was not able to keep his unspoken word, as a gasp of his own severed the seal. Louder than the previous sounds but still a quiet sound she let out. But there were no screams, unexpected shouts or tears – it was his lover, so he should have known.

Loki was aware of what pain wracked her form. When she became his, it stabbed him sharply akin to a knife between the ribs. It was not his agony it couldn’t have been and he was somehow subconsciously happy that her pain resonated through him. He did not register that as he spilt the Goddess’s blood her nails broke the skin of his shoulder blades, he was immune to such small damages. It was impossible and unthinkable what he felt, this was definitely something unique, ancient and of Vanaheim – they were one. Not merely physically joined or metaphorically, he lacked words to explain it to himself. It was _something_ , a ribbon that coiled around them and promised to _never_ let go.

He tried to make himself breathe (pain was still alit), attempted to form thoughts. With huge efforts he managed to gather himself, the fact that the woman’s mind and physique resounded in his was not aiding him at all. The boy-prince pressed light kisses to her lips, jaw, throat, neck – anywhere he could reach, all the while stilling his lower body. The touches were apologetic; selfish – yes he was, but not this cruel. At least his subconscious was glad (with masochistic glee – he wouldn’t ever admit it) that he lived through everything she experienced.  

He began moving and it was excruciating. The motion was as slow as before. Adapting to this all too new sensation was difficult. Time was not kind, equivalent to eons before the sensation changed. It hit the God of Mischief unexpectedly, appearing out of nowhere. He suddenly realized just how hot the young woman’s core felt, it was unbearable and pleasurable. The young man’s insides were set ablaze. Alas his flesh stayed cold but where they touched it seemed to sizzle. He loved the contrast, it was indescribable.

She arched to meet each thrust. The set rhythm was enjoyable, just slightly faster than before. The girl mewled and gasped quietly, her nails raking his back, adorning it with marks and he wanted them to be permanent. His inhales and exhales were loud. It was perfect, every detail was divine. The way her eyes burned in emerald just for him; the way her skin scorched him all over; what fiery trails her fingernails left... The male could not restrain his lips from worshipping her form. He felt complete despite not having reached completion in the Goddess’s depths yet. And it did not overtake his mind, he wanted this to last eternally. This power was too immense to refuse.

Every wish for their forged union not to cease was almost shattered by the overtaking high of her ecstasy. The princess-not-really-princess’s hair smelled sweet, he hid his face in it. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from screaming quietly at the pleasant torture. It was so hard to keep steady and not fall with her as her heavenly insides clenched forcefully. Sigyn moved like a feline beneath him so graceful and otherworldly. It did not aid him however.

Soon her physique bucked chaotically and he sunk his teeth into the side of her neck where he had etched his possession before. It felt like losing flight but with a peaceful resignation and it was not just his, for she held to him so tightly it probably bruised. The God was torn between fighting the alluring sensation and being lost in it. It was beyond words – feeling both of their sensations simultaneously. As evenly as he could he upheld the pace, no matter what her body needed. Each spasm of her muscles was exquisite. The Lady’s legs on their own accord tried to wind themselves about the Godling. He disallowed the notion for it would hinder his slow, deep and passionate loving. The prince would keep this as soft as possible, and the instinctual speeding would have to be ignored. It was hard enough not to add more force as it was.

Her breathy sighs drew in frequency and volume, until they quieted. And now he began to miss those overpowering clenches of her core. It was clear that it was what he would strive for. The Vanir’s dark painted eyes met his, there was no complaint in them. Alas the tiny sounds betrayed the discomfort of her overworked form. Compassion was not issued to her person as he moved all the same, while she was reluctant to follow.

* * *

 

There were many more climaxes and with every new one the difficulty rose. But with each high he forced her to climb the mountain and then fall from the clouds again, again and again... He rekindled her flame time and time again, her passionate fire was his sin. It was so unbearable that it even hurt the God of Lies to hold himself back. The pace was nearly impossible to keep steady. Forming coherent thoughts was not within his capacities. There was only him and her – _them_ , everything else ceased to exist.

In the insane throes of raw lust the woman fleetingly noted how the man felt icy at times: inside her and outside. That cold was unrivaled by both Niflheim and Jotunheim combined. She burned for his northern ice.

The Heir did not see the eerie light of dawn seeping through the window of the bedchamber. Sweat glistened on the female, he too felt cold sweat pouring from his warmed physique. She had held him, caressed him, clawed at him, kissed him, bit him and let him know that she was _his_. The male had let his hands, lips, tongue, and teeth explore her magnificent form – he was _hers_. And he was always left wanting more...

With a wicked, loud yet quiet mewl, Sigyn’s legs locked around his waist. Her core clenched him powerfully and sporadically. The chaos she sowed, the pain he felt burst into blinding pleasure. Loki could not stop himself, he spilled into her depths. His very being shattered into many sharp shards and the brokenness was not worth grieving over. The cold fluid released only heightened what the Vanir felt. The Lie God’s movement was disharmonized, messy. He thrust slowly but with force – the oath of being careful was forgotten, there were no means to keep it.

Making love was often described as _living_ , however the sensation of completion contradicted that. The Trickster God was tricked into a false expectation but it was most certainly for the best. He was falling into the abyss, falling together with his lover. The darkness so akin to death embraced him. Spent, he collapsed atop her. The bottomless pit was not receding, still it held him enveloped in its grasp. The Lady’s insides pulsed about him, dying down softly. She was aware of his full weight crushing her, but it was more than welcome.

After long minutes he began to regain his reign over his blissfully ignorant mind. The transition was hazy and did not occur instantly. The Godling refused the slave-driving of his jealous lungs, attempting to even his breathing. Some thoroughly satisfied and confident in its words inner voice told him that willing a muscle to move would fail, it also said that resting here for eternity would be perfect.

The girl regained her mental footing later than he did. The fingers of his hand played with the skin of her shoulder, tracing his nails over it slightly. The God of Deceit was informed that she had ventured out of that omnipotent abyss, when her fingernails started drawing elaborate patterns on his back. He was reminded of the abstract ‘painting’ done in blood on his back, left from earlier, but the realization failed to fixate itself onto his brain. Little sparks still travelled through their forms.

No matter how tempting it was to simply slumber in her arms and still _inside_ her, he knew that it was not the best option. He tried to carefully disentangle himself from her, holding himself above with trembling arms. As the joining of their bodies was severed, his length slipping out softly, there was a broken sound of ‘ _ahn_ ’ from the Goddess, while he hissed. The Prince pressed a subtle kiss to her lips – he didn’t mean to enforce the discomfort. The union – no longer entwined, left both Godlings feeling hollow. However what was forged in their hearts was unbreakable.

The God of Mischief lethargically moved away to sink into the mattress beside her. The female shifted to place her head on his chest. The way her breasts pressed to his side made a satisfied smirk appear on Loki’s face. He brought the deep green sheet higher to cover his love better. She took some of the material into a possessive fist and curled more into him.

In counted seconds Sigyn was asleep. He spent some time contemplating the simple things: her skin touching him, the pleasantness of her silk-like hair, her slumbering breathing. There were candles in the room still burning, with a wish from the master they were extinguished. The clouded sunrise was evident and the exhausted magician gestured for the drapes to close – the bright rays of the upcoming day would not deny them of slumber. Soon he entered a void of a dream too.

* * *

 

The young man woke heavily. His sleep – more akin to a nap led by pure exhaustion. It was restful but as always left him feeling swatted. The God found that coherency was coming slowly to him. His inner clock was offbeat and he reckoned that it was well past noon.

Eyes remained closed as he tried to grasp the leaving satisfaction of the moment. There was a warmth that was never present in his bed. The reminiscence returned blissfully and upturned his lips. There was a limb draped over his waist, claiming him as owned territory. The other hand of his lover was fisted against his spine.

The emerald orbs flashed open and met the illuminated chamber. With a movement of his fingers the Master of Magic gestured for the semitransparent drapes over the carcass of the bed to gather and tie themselves. He willed for the curtains over the grand window to do the same. An odd day was going on beyond the walls – cloudy. The sun-loved Asgard for once was left without its caress and that was to his liking. It was as if what transpired between the two younglings had changed the routine course. A rebellious part of the Trickster was pleased, he wanted everyone to know the occurrence of this sin. And yet he did not, he loved secrets just as much. So it was like always – the beings around knew that something was wrong, but they were never aware of what it actually was. Such fun it was to burn someone’s subconscious like that, let them know without revealing anything.  

The God of Mischief turned sides carefully in order to observe the slumbering occupant of the big mattress. After some minutes passed she shifted to lie on her back. Stormy sea colored eyes (no longer green) revealed themselves. He rested his head on his hand and did not offer a greeting – it was unnecessary. The Lady did not utter one either. Something was amiss and before she moved her form in some startled fashion, his palm splayed itself on her stomach. Her first words this morning (if it was really fitting to call a day that) were not all that strange.

“What time is it?” the tone was slightly frantic.

“I believe it to be some time in the afternoon”

“I need to--”

The Throne Heir interjected disallowing her to finish the sentence.

“It will be alright. You have said it yourself that you often sleep-in, therefore I doubt that your household is breaking down the door to your bedchamber at the moment. I mean, an all-nighter of magic studies or readying can cause that” wickedness played in his voice. “I will apparate you straight to your room. Njord will not notice, given if he really is back in Noatun”

“But--”

Yet again the boy-prince interrupted.

“You have titled me as the God of Magic, yet you distrust my abilities so quickly. You wound me, Sigyn” an obvious faux of hurt was incorporated.

The young woman sighed – convinced.

He enjoyed the silence and was content with watching her. Each detail was engraved into his memory – as always, and without fail. The perfection was swift to ebb away, he bit his lip, it was a sign of guilt. A mad idea was birthed by the male’s warped mind. He did not let himself think it over, lest he’d lack the courage to actually do it. A bad decision or a good one but it had to be done.

His hand slid lower, she frowned.

“Loki?” the girl questioned confused. She could say his name in various intonations, she could say it a hundred thousand times – he did not care, only wanted to hear the sound again, again and again...

Oh, the God of Lies already knew that he was going to regret this decision. It was only important that what it was going to cause would not be outweighed by the outcome. He meant well. With a steadying exhale he shoved two fingers (far too much) into her as fast as he could. There was a pained little shout and his wrist was clasped in an iron hold beneath the covers. The Goddess held him there and did not pry – it would only sharpen the sensation. The God of Deceit winced. Of course he was right, she was naturally moist but not aroused and far, far too dry for such rough penetration.  

What he did was probably so unexpected that she was too shocked to do or say anything. Soothing energy poured into her. She cooed at the feeling, although her eyebrows were still furrowed. The female understood his intention but he did not think that he would be forgiven for this lightly.

The young magician was no healer by any means, yet he still attempted to aid as much as he was able to. He found that surprisingly, there were nearly no wounds to tend to. But he had been so sure that he had ripped her badly, he was glad that his assumptions were incorrect. The Godling began working on the few nicks that he was solely responsible for. He sensed the obvious tenseness of her core, which was caused by his reckless decision making of this ‘morning’. The God frowned – wounds he could fix, but where to begin with strained muscles, he had no clue.

The Vanir remained still. The concentrating man made his energy permeate her insides thoroughly. With great disappointment his attempts to heal (or more accurately – relieve) were in vain. He kissed the corner of her lips as means of apology – he did not have a choice. The appendages slipped out of core and she breathed out in relief. His hand rested atop her womb – as if the presence could alleviate the discomfort.

The Prince tried to explain himself, not sounding as confident as he usually did.

“I healed the... cuts... Alas I could not do anything about the strain of your muscles”

Sigyn glared, he knew what she was thinking. She believed him to be wallowing in manly pride, reveling in the fact of her soreness and chivalrously (like a damnable lover from a romance book) offering to relieve her, managing to diminish her position to a blushing deflowered maiden. Oh yes, that was definitely what she was assuming – but she was completely wrong. Not like he had been left unscathed from her loving. Loki’s musculature was ridden by fatigue that could compare to arduous training plus hours upon hours spent on the battlefield. Although this sort of state his body was in – was very welcome. Furthermore, there were deep scratches on his back, upper-arms and outer thighs – all of those were keen on letting him know of their presence. It was bizarre that those gashes had not healed. A voice whispered that he did not want for them to heal, because why would he ever want the markings his lover left to be gone from his form? And so he fared better than her, but much, much worse than the girl-woman thought.

The Lie God’s physiognomy was empty of any self-satisfied smirks or mock-concern – that was his answer to her unspoken accusations. The Lady’s angry stare relented, alas she was not convinced of anything.

“You-- you could have warned me of what you were about to do”

He raised an eyebrow at her unreasonable statement.

“You would not have allowed me to do it anyway” it was true, the man knew. The woman was a mystery, but if anything, he was certain of the voiced fact.

She couldn’t deny the claim.

“But ouch... just _ouch_ ” that frown returned to mar her beautiful features.

The Heir kissed the corner of her lips again, this time sparing a few chaste ones fully on the lips. Well, as much as he was able to do so gracefully from this angle. In between them he told his babe, honesty laced his words. But they did not sound sorrowful, just genuine.

“I am sorry, love”

Her narrowed gaze inspired his playfulness to resurface.

“Would you have preferred that I use my tongue?”

Oh, she was angry and he grinned at that.

“Say that again and I will deck you straight in the jaw”

The mischievous one did not doubt her threat. However it just intensified his mirth.

“I am pleased to please you, no matter how”

The females snorted at that. He looked down her gorgeous form, gaze lingering on her chest. It was obscured by the sheet and he wanted to see her nude in the light of day. She was his, so there was no reason for this wish to be impossible to make into reality. Yet he did nothing to allow this dream to come to fruition, the girl would disapprove and he had ruffled her feathers enough for now. However, idling was not in the young God’s repertoire. He moved in order to be able to place his hand on either side of her. The second-born Prince was aware that he was being watched. He nuzzled his face between her breasts. What a heavenly pillow her bosom could be, he would have to sleep there sometime.

She was relaxed, not minding her state of undress beneath the covers. The thin sheet was grasped with his teeth as he removed it carefully to uncover one of those luscious mounds. The God of Mischief was not trying to initiate anything. He wasn’t even aware whether he could actually make love again, he didn’t want to anyway. In that sense he was completely sated and wonderfully tired still. This was just a fancy that hit him, of course the way his given name was repeated once more did not stop him. Whatever repercussions would come from this – would be taken without complaint.

The Princeling dragged his tongue leisurely from the underside of her exposed breast, across the center, then over it. The woman shivered, he was delighted. Slow and attentive licks were given to the pale pink peak a couple of times. With a heavy heart he pressed a kiss to the bud and then pulled away. She shoved him away and he fell back to the side with a deep chuckle.

The two spent some time simply gazing into each other, trying to soak in the moment as much as possible. When the Goddess’s eyes flashed with something akin to wickedness he waited. Her expression became the same as in those constantly color-indecisive orbs. Her touch was ticklish, as the fingers of her hand began ‘walking’ on his arm. There was a catch somewhere, the man hoped that she would tell him what amused her so greatly. He didn’t have to wait long.

“You know I’d doubted what you had said”

“When?” he inquired not really following. The incessant touches on his arm remained – they were pleasant.

She did not reply to the question.

“Hmmm, I probably shouldn’t believe it... There’re probably reasons or explanations why I feel it to be so... But at least I am sure of the fact...”

The God of spell-craft refused to press further. It was a game and he was aware that it would do no good to show how eager he was to know what she was talking about. He feigned mild interest and opted to stay patient.

The tickling sensation ceased. Her nails began tracing his chest, for the first time he paid attention to them. The evening prior they had been short, however somewhere in the midst of their joining they had morphed into delicate yet sharp claws they were now. No wonder there were gashes on his back.

“Perhaps I am wrong, perhaps it’s been a long time or maybe it’s simply in your nature...”

Still the puzzle that were her words, were not making any sense. The young Lady inched closer. Her long, onyx varnished fingernails continued with their exploration. There were many markings made by her on his body, but she pressed her lips to the one on his neck. The Vanir rained down openmouthed kisses over the tender brand. Between them she continued with whatever it was that she was telling him.

“...But, your energy, something in the fabric of it was so pure, so pure when I got close to you...”

“And?” Loki couldn’t help himself, his patience was running thin.

“I didn’t make anything of it, just a Vanir thing I thought. But now something’s different...”

Alright, if he had been intrigued, then now he was burning with the desire to understand what had changed in him, what did her senses tell her.

“Tell me, lover...” she grinned sinisterly “Why can I feel my own essence laced with yours?”  

The boy-prince tensed. His neck was showered in enjoyable attentions, as she felt him filch, the female chuckled darkly. He understood what she was implying.

“Now, don’t tell me that I’m wrong. Just let me bathe in the fantasy”

“And what if...” he said sounding deep in thought.

“And what if...?” she echoed.

“What if I were to tell you that you are correct?”

Despite what she was indicating for a moment she seemed lost at the suggestion. The girl broke into a wild grin.

“If you were to tell me that, I would be very pleased” her tone was coy. She pressed her naked body to his underneath the sheets and draped her leg over his.

“I would be very pleased” the young woman repeated.

The Lie God’s response was something between a growl and a purr. It was obvious that the Goddess was as possessive as he. He did not regret the fact that he had chosen to take her as his first (and last) lover, and he didn’t mind that she had found it out just now. Sigyn was an untamable fire but her flames did not burn him.


	12. Wedding. Part I

**Chapter twelve**

****_Wedding._** Part I**

The room was big, ornate. There were many flowers: in vases, pots, lain; dried and recently plucked. Sigyn wanted to smash them all but refrained. She felt sickened and angered. The Goddess was scared, more than she could put into words.

This morning had come in all its sunny glory and it mocked her with its cheeriness. No matter how much she had willed herself to forget her impending doom these past days, today she was unable to deceive herself. For a being imprisoned could have forgotten its state behind bars, escaped to some sanctuary in its mind, but when it stood on the scaffold – there was no way to escape the harsh reality. And when the Lady had woken up, it had hit her. She had offered no tears or pleas and demands. All that there was, was boiling rage and stress-induced nausea (and the latter had not receded).

Unable to do much, she simply sat by the vanity and stared at her reflection in distaste. The women that had been there to dress and paint her were all gone now, much to her relief. She was supposed to be bared nude, bathed and put into the gown, however she had managed to convince them to be allowed to do that on her own. There was no magic incorporated, so only when she had snapped and yelled at them to let her do as she pleased – they had relented. Probably the unfamiliar helpers (her sisters weren’t present) believed that she wanted only her future husband to see her in all her glory. And they were fucking wrong, she wasn’t shy nor reserved. The girl-woman had simply refused to being diminished like this. Oh, how their happy little faces insulted her, she wanted to spit into each one of those detestable physiognomies.

She was left alone as was tradition. For every bride was given time to collect themselves in solitude. The Vanir was glad (as much as she was able in this situation) that she was finally free of those stupid females. She had nearly thrown up (or resorted to violence) at what they had talked and giggled about. Words about how pretty she was (she looked hideous right now, it was a fact) and they were all too keen on informing the innocent (not likely) maiden of what she should expect and do on her wedding night. At that time she had barely kept still because she wanted to do _something_ to them and to change this situation completely.

The young woman recalled what happened this morning, if it was possible it only broke her heart all the more... She had been forced to wake much earlier that she usually did and except for a few minor (in the eyes of her household) nuances, things had progressed no different than the norm. Hatred was what she felt at the memory, it proved to her that nearly no one had cared about what awaited her. But of course there was someone that did and tears that she refused to shed made their appearance. Poor Syn, her poor, poor baby-sister. She had been hysterical, displaying each emotion and reaction that was welling up in Sigyn. Since she was so apathetic and resigned, which was so drastically out of her norm (but no one cared to notice that), her little sister transformed all of what was inside of her – out.

The family had been lost, so utterly unable to figure out what had made such a wise and composed child act so... mad. The tiny girl had wailed, screamed, begged for her older sister to be spared _(‘oh but, sweetheart, marriage is not a monster’_ they spoke all in lies) – but to no avail. The child had even vomited. Grandfather had been mystified, yet he’d been quick to gather his youngest granddaughter in his hands and try to console her. In the end it had been decided that Syn was probably throwing a tantrum because the wedding of her sibling meant to her something similar to losing her sister. Considering the fact that she would no longer live under the same roof, eat at the same table and etcetera. The sentenced female loved her sister dearly and she thought that this love could not possibly be any bigger than it was. But the Goddess had been wrong, what the tiny child had done made the love grow.

During the entire ride from Noatun to the palace the cries could not be consoled. Try as her grandfather-- the girl stopped herself there, the elder man was no longer worthy of being called by any names that held connections to her, so she corrected herself. Try as _he_ might, he had not managed to quell the hysteria.

She knew that right about now Njord was weighing his options. He could leave the frenzied child in some chamber, not before making her drink a potent sleeping potion of course. For he could not bring his granddaughter to the grand ceremony, if there was even the slightest chance that some sort of scandalous behavior could occur. However, the ex-Ruler could not validate a reason for the disappearance of one of his kin, all were to be present on this _joyous_ day. So the Lady knew that Syn would have to be drugged with strong sedatives to keep her in line. She dreaded the moment when she _will_ see the clouded, intoxicated eyes, filled with an unseeing gaze... For once they could have listened to the infantile to-be-goddess of wisdom, alas there was no one to take into the account the warnings sowed by the lips of the two Vanir sisters.

She wondered whether what grandfather had said was true, not his words but the emotion behind them. Catching her mistake in naming, she came to the realization that old habits died hard. Truly, hope was the mother of fools and when the girl could no longer fool herself, she understood that there had been a slimmer of hope in her. Some small part of her had believed that he would turn around and call the whole thing off with a warm smile on his old face. That of course did not happen. What was left was hate, she loathed the elder God with all her might. It was strange how in her short life he had changed (and it was really a meager count of years). Where had the admirable figure gone? She had been born when Njord already resided in Noatun and the Aesir-Vanir wars had long since passed by the time. He had become a valiant follower of the Odin-cult (that’s how she called it) but he had not seemed so concerned back then. Perhaps he was always like that and perhaps it all morphed with the centuries as they dripped by. Because what kind of trouble could children present to him then, none – but now, oh now the nuisance was unbearable.

The God of Seas had forgotten all that he had been. Reason to why his heim-land despised him and the woman did too. Slowly but truthfully the _living_ realm and its beat rejected the very idea of their former Ruler and she did too. It was no surprise that anything connected to it (the books, the scrolls, the knowledge and Sigyn as well in the count) denied him. Of course the man’s power was his own, it would never abandon him, but it was not so with Vanaheim. And she knew that she felt the betrayal only now because it was personal, and not because of what he had done to the world. Guilt gnawed at her for that, she resolved to make amends when... if, _if_ she ever returned to her homeland.

The reality stung but the power-shackled bride refused to acknowledge it. She had hardened herself beyond the care for these severed bonds. Njord had seemed so much like the past, the him of past, when he spoke to her this dreadful morning. So genuine, so kind – how could he, when he was the one who sentenced her to death? This was no trifle thing, not something that could be forgiven. It did not matter that no one saw it her way, but this accursed wedding was nothing short of murder. And the old Vanir, the one she had called ‘grandfather’ had pushed the knife into her heart. Did he think that he could kill the Goddess’s dark light? Much like he _thought_ he did to Vanaheim? Even if one of them remained, she knew that she’d at least go with a bang. Oh yes, she would... The thoughts about exactly how that should be accomplished swum in her head. Like a trapped bird but not quite as helpless. The female could tarnish the room, break the mirror, the expensive vases and set the room on fire, also so much more... She could cause a farce in front of everyone in the grand hall, spit into the Allfather’s face – because she could. See how Njord would like all that?

That was when she nearly started sobbing. No, she could not do most of what she wanted. The still-child woman looked down to her hands. She should have clawed at his face, should’ve fought against her so called caretaker. The one that let her go on all four winds in her youth and now realized the monster he’d raised, wanting it fixed. Not all broken things could be mended and grieve all you want, they won’t return to as they were. More so when the item (for that was what she was, wasn’t it?) was not shattered at all. Sane, insane – no matter; Sigyn was as she was supposed to be, no more no less. And why hadn’t she done anything? He had sat her down, with Lofn holding her shoulders (traitor!) painfully hard. Yet she had the power to shake it off but she didn’t, somehow believing that she could do better. Was she so sure now? Not like the petrifying fear, paranoia and rage would let her see. And just like that with a heated needle he had etched runes on both of her wrists, not permanent though (whatever, it was cruel enough as it was). It hurt but probably the betrayal hurt much more. Now though, the boundary-holding markings did not pain her, just stood as a reminder of how naïve her whole existence she’d been.

There were levels of hatred, Njord and Lofn bid high. Nanna however was a curious onlooker, that was a lower step but it still burned with the intensity of a thousand suns. Her oldest sister had been jealous, that much was obvious. The heavy hands like lead on her shoulders and the narrowed sky-blue eyes were proof enough.

Those runes denied one of the things she could not breathe without – magic. Clever, the old God was clever indeed. The doors and windows were warded with wards, even in her full capacities she doubted that she could have managed to break out. There was no flame available, not even a candle alit in sight, and so how was she to burn the room down? No way to see the disgusting pastel drapes and curtains go into spontaneous flame. Yes, the frenzied one still had her fists but that was not enough. And yet the imaginary scent of ash and smoke calmed her more than all those pretty Asgardian flowers (if she’ll be able to, then she will surely destroy a garden or two in Asgard, as means of retaliation).

The Vanir gazed with liquid fire at her powerless libs. The claws were sharp, refusing to break or retract since... The thought nearly broke her down entirely. True to his word, Loki had not come to see her after then. He told her not to worry but he was dumb if he’d thought she could pull that off. No, there were no regrets concerning anything that transpired between them, absolutely none. The last months were the most fun she had since... well, ever. Sigyn was conflicted, and if not for her current mental state, she wouldn’t be. It was so purely genuine what the two Godlings had shared all this time: his words, his actions – everything.

Even if her lover (don’t call him that now, it’ll hurt – she reminded herself) had not been all truth, then it was still clear that she was far too valuable to discard. And why would the Prince go through all of that if she’d only been a business deal? Sure, it made sense to keep tolerable and maybe even friendly relations (with bedmate benefits or not), but there was no need to care so worshipping-ly, interest himself and do all of what he’d done. What the male had stated in their initial parlay was enough to keep this deal afloat. She knew that she was unattainable, but why would someone with the disposal of any female in sight, choose to even humiliate himself so much to get her to spread her legs? Of course, the logical part of her brain interfered, maybe he fancied a difficult game (he was definitely the type for that) and now that it was won, it was over? But when thought hard enough it was clear that even if that was the undeniable truth – she was still far too powerful to forsake. Yeah, he could travel himself and maybe he didn’t really get tired from it, however there was the glaring fact that she was the victory bringer. And hello, isn’t that something worth keeping? She shook her head, why was she even contemplating this? She knew, fucking _knew_ that he did not deceive her. Maybe his silver tongue did, but the spirit of Vanaheim inside her could not be fooled so easily. And yet the dilemma remained. Loki was the God of Lies, how much could he warp to make-believe?

The girl had to go with a bang, a clear statement. Alas, she remained seated without lifting a finger. It made more sense to damage everyone more than just by wreaking havoc in an innocent room (it could fall to disrepair for all she cared), she should ruin the ceremony itself. Nitpick it bit by bit, then do something disastrous. And yet her inward loony grin did not seep into the outside (she was far too aware of the sadness to be able to upturn her lips, much less flash her teeth).

The Lady had made a promise though and she would keep it. Not because a word could not be broken (she was not foolish like that) but because she respected the man she had given it to. Not much would be lost anyway, and she really, really admired the God of Mischief. So the oath would be left unbroken, her lovely flower would bloom to her demise only when she promised that it would; no sooner, no later. Damn all reason but perhaps the Trickster would come to her rescue in some way, she did not care how: obviously or not, with grandeur or technical formalities... No need for the female to climb down from her soapbox, for she really was a treasure. And the second-born would be the stupidest God ever if he were to forfeit this chance at infinite fortune...

There was about half an hour left until the bridesmaids returned. She would have to make haste (and it wasn’t an escape that would have to be accomplished, it was impossible for someone of her strength to leave a heavily warded and guarded place as the Golden palace). Fixing this awful get-up was her mission. It was clear how happy she should have been for being allowed to dress by herself, therefore none of the hidden contents of the dress she had arrived in were removed. It was good that Njord had never cared for her garb, so the puffy gown she left in was not questioned, no matter how unlike her it was. Sigyn had sewn a bag into one of her underskirts. It was wondrous that no one had noticed her strange gait. If she could have used magic at least the pack could have been suppressed into a smaller size, but then her caretaker would have perceived the spell.

The girls meant to help her had also failed to see the much less graceful walk she sported when she had changed her clothing into the chosen wedding gown. It was indescribably difficult to walk with a huge load clenched between her legs, she had worried so much that she’d drop it. What the elder God had assumed to be reluctance previously, the serving ones probably believed it to be stricken joy that hindered her perfect stride.

When the females would return to retrieve her there would be no time left to change her image. She would hit one if necessary to convince them to leave her be and she had never harmed a person with her hands with serious meaning behind it – that would be a first. But maybe if luck would not abandon her (for it was nowhere in sight when this whole ordeal came to be) then perhaps they would think that it’s her foreign nature that made her alter her appearance and just leave it at that.

With a relieved sigh the bag was removed from under the thin cloth. She studied herself in the mirror. Norns, whoever had picked this damnable dress had no sense of style whatsoever! Even if bizarre – at least hers could be appreciated for the idea of uniqueness. The wedding gown the bride-not-really-bride was put into was white, at least not of see-through material. And why did it have to be white? Aesir women often married in dresses of various coloring, but why was this chosen for her? The Vanir Lady snorted, it was probably for the reason of accentuating purity. The gown was shapeless and flowing, but it did show off her shoulders. The chest area was cut in a straight line above her décolleté. The golden embroidery on the lining of the bottom and top was not enough to make it look less cheap. Who cared if it was of the finest threads – it still looked atrocious. It was also relatively short and showed of the god-awful sandals she was pressed into putting on. Sandals! How old was she? Syn’s age, maybe Nanna’s? What moron had designed this?

There was a crown of semidried flowers atop her head, that’s how they’d attempted to imitate Vanir traditions. Just as what they tried to do with the dress and obviously poorly, for they knew nothing of the wedding ceremony traditions in Vanaheim or more accurately – the lack of strict regulations. In the braided crown there were many flowers, one whoever caused her anger – Ruta, the meaning of which was virginity. If that didn’t stomp on her pride, then it spoke lies. And even without the purity of the untouched – the Goddess still felt as pure as ever. Her lover had not managed to change that, he did not tarnish or ruin her. She was herself and a torn hymen did not change who she was.

The ring of opened blossoms was forcefully tossed to the reflective surface of the vanity. The crown lost its structure as well as a lot of petals. The white veil came next, it was discarded somewhere behind her. Curse it all to the heaviest punishment of the Unnamed Realms, what had they done to her hair! It was uplifted in a modest chignon. This was unacceptable. Her locks would always be free and never in binds for the reasons of others! No matter if a certain position in Asgard or anywhere else required it – she did not care. The pins were yanked from her hair with added force and then thrown into the mirror, which did not even crack, there wasn’t even a sound of collision. With the third down she stopped the careless tossing, lest a hairpin would smack her back in the face.

With it done came the next part. And yet the young woman could not get over the damned tablecloth that she wore. What was it supposed to do anyway? It did not flatter her in anyway, merely made her look shapeless. And there was no corset placed underneath, although the loose garb would have hidden a narrowed waist anyway. And because of the absence of the undergarment her breasts were offered no support, she looked positively flat. Her figure was a straight line here, were they trying to make her look like a child? Well, her body and youthful face were perfectly made for that! Oh, but she did like both, although where was the point in making her look unattractive?                  

The sandals were unstrapped and kicked off. She removed her dress from the compressed pack. This was one of those times when the girl was glad that she was surrounded by ignorant fools, which failed to notice her. The gown was marvelous and she had spent quite a few moments deciding on what to commission. It was much to her gain that the grandfather-no-longer-grandfather cared none for what his granddaughters dressed like. Freya’s daughters were allowed to spend as much as they liked on their wardrobes and it wasn’t like the Sea God’s wealth could be minimized by it. The seamstress that created these wonders never minded what the Vanir female requested. She was a kind old woman or perhaps the pay was just too good to chastise or say a word to the buyer. Then again maybe she simply assumed that such a foreign creature should not be questioned for her sense of style. One way or another, the master craftress always seemed happy to work on the clothing that the young one ordered. She had even remarked that some of the unique fabrics Sigyn brought were not worked with before, in all of her long career of sewing. When the bride could... _If_ she could, she would commission something from the elder seamstress again.

The dress was truly something special (like all of the things she designed and bought). It was dyed in big blotches of paint: midnight blue, dizzying orange and black – so akin to an insane artist’s canvas. It had a long trail that would drag behind the wearer gracefully, although no cuts to show-off legs were made (she had to repress the urge, in order not to be too much of an eyesore to the Aesir, for it was a wedding). The top half dipped low in a round shape (yet not too much), with two spiking small edges but not atop her breasts, closer to the armpits. However the back was open sinfully low.

The girl-woman had to refuse the want to wear one of her favorite colors – green. That may have been misinterpreted as an indicator by a certain _someone_. She also did not bring the gifted necklace with the rare stone, which could have screamed unnecessary things (as well as clashed terribly with the palette of her garb). The trinket was hidden back in her past bedchambers in Noatun. Even if her family members were to find where she kept it, the small chest would not be opened or destroyed. It was something her father had made for her – a puzzle box to hide her treasures and it was even Dverger enchanted. No sturdier than that could be purchased, of course in the hands of a Master Magician it might not have lived-up to its name.

Alas there was a garter from black velvet with an emerald brooch on it, snuggly hugging her leg. Of course its purpose would be determined later, whether just an accessory or something entirely different... If the Lie God were to betray his so-called love, then there would be reason for despising. Still, she smiled bitterly, their days together would not be thought of as any less. Even in the dreadful scenario she knew that while her love could turn into hate, she couldn’t truly loathe the young man. The Goddess would love him always, but that didn’t mean that she would ever refrain from leaving or hurting him, it was the way of this daughter of Vanaheim. She tried to make the thoughts about the God of Deceit go away but they always remained somewhere in the background. And whenever they came close to the front, they choked her like a tightly laced corset.

She draped the piece of clothing on the plush stool she had occupied and removed the wedding gown she wore. There was no time to waste finding a more discreet corner to change, at least the curtains were drawn. Walking through the room seminude was uncomfortable. The woman was not dissatisfied with her forms, but her temple of a body would be shown to selective few, only one person had seen her so (if she didn’t count the ones that had dressed her as an infant, as well as herself).

Her torso was bare and on her bottom there were shorts-like black panties. As if choosing a larger undergarment would protect her, but it gave a false sense of security and that was that. The helpers would have made her wear the ugly thing (the dress) on her completely naked physique, which was stupid. Why should it have been so? It’s not like skirts hindered the access of any lustful males, it was easy enough. And what, couldn’t men remove panties, was that so difficult? The female scoffed, practice told her that it of course was not so (the God of Mischief had no problem there).

Relief washed her in tidal waves that the said bumbling women had left a corset behind, what was the reason she was not sure (for everything she had with her person was removed from the chamber). It was white, at least it wasn’t pale pink – she couldn’t stand it. The color of rainless clouds was now heavily disliked as well, although she still had her love for snow. Tying the strings of the corset on her own was difficult. The girl barely managed to do it without spending too much time on the task. In theory she could have brought some sort of article of clothing worn on the chest, but her pack had been compressed as much as possible. There were quite a few items inside, she had to sacrifice something and that, due to the chosen gown, would not have been missed overly.

The vibrant dress was put on and it hummed with the magic of the magician-in-learning. Of course she could not extract the energy and use it for something else, the enchantment only served the purpose of keeping the fabric in place. It clung to her exquisitely and the sharp edges of the corset were hidden. Quickly she slipped her feet into ebony high-heels. They were tall like she wanted but as light and compact as possible, in order for the transportation that had commenced to be successful.

With a look spared to the reflective surface the Vanir noted the disheveled state of her hair. She took a brush from the make-up table and started fixing it. Her locks were darker than usual, no longer hazel but a deep brown. The sun-streaked strands had become something akin to a black-blue. The Goddess would have liked to inspect it better but she couldn’t. It was strange how her hair normally changed over long periods of time and during her travels, yet three days ago she had woken up beside the one she titled as the God of Magic, with locks of burgundy red! She cursed his huge effect on her.

The hair was smoothed but it did not look satisfactory, so the Lady took a fine-toothed comb from the clattered vanity and began tangling her hair. She then brushed it back lightly and now it looked decent – very, very puffy.

Diving into the bag she removed the last things from it. If they thought that an obnoxious rouge on her cheeks and painted eyelashes sufficed – well they were wrong. Live or die – she wanted to do both while being as beautiful as possible. She wiped the eye-poking rosy paint from her cheeks and proceeded to salvage her look. Sigyn lined her eyes generously with a black kohl pencil, dusted her eyelids heavily with shadow: dark blue in the creases and orange from there on. Her luscious lips were brightened only slightly. The mirror did not lie – she was daringly gorgeous in her understanding. All that there was left – was jewelry and she had brought a pair of earrings. Like they would have managed to push her to the altar without any accessories on, as if! In her ears now dangled long (so lengthy that they slightly touched her bare shoulders) silver earrings.

All was done – the young woman had made it in time.

* * *

 

Unseen and unfelt eyes watched the bride.

For a moment the Master of Magic gazed into her directly through the mirror she sat at. The hybrid of grievance and rage was evident in the girl. Loki felt the same dissatisfaction as she when looking at her visage. The white wedding gown she was in did nothing to flatter her divine figure and the crown of flowers atop her head was insulting.

He wished for nothing more than to help her change what annoyed and angered his love so greatly. Alas he could not and it was not for the reason of keeping her in the dark until the right time. To use his power as he had done before was impossible in this situation. In such a heavily warded chamber the Godling’s magic would be caught in the weaving, while it would pass through, the tangled-in energy would remain. Thus would uncover the fact that there was interference even if he could hide his signature essence. The boy-prince loathed being so useless.

Sigyn seemed so young in this get-up. The created image did not represent who she was. Although it was clear that the strange use of flowers as well as garb was an attempted imitation at the ceremonial traditions of Vanaheim. But it failed to cover its nature and to him the enchanting Goddess was considered a synonym of that realm.

The mischievous one missed her vibrant style of dressing and the bright make-up. This visage made this whole ordeal seem more wrong, when she’d stand beside the groom (that bastard) she would resemble a lost child. The thought was sickening.

The Prince of Asgard felt guilty and so wretched. But there was nothing he could do to change his poor judgment. His Lady must hate him now. She probably cursed him by the hundred and not without good reason too. He desperately wanted only one thing, he pleaded the Norns to be merciful to him and just let her keep her promise.

The God of Lies was so despicable. Damn his crooked Trickster nature! So bent on leaving this as a surprise that he forgot to take into account what that would spawn. And he regretted that decision. There had been only doubtable and shallow words from his silver tongue and he left his lover with nothing. Absolutely nothing to bring solace or to reassure. Their last meeting was the ‘morning’ after the most perfect night of loving, which the woman surely despised now. After that meeting he had only left her with a soreness between her legs and nothing, nothing else. The strong discomfort she obviously had to carry even now.

Why hadn’t he been more foreseeing than this? But of course _the_ suggestion had been far too undeniable and he would have lied if he’d claimed that he did not want or even plan it. Obviously his warped self could not decline. The Trickster God only indulged, not caring for the consequences. He swore that when the shawl of today would be pulled away, he would plead, beg and crawl, promise to do anything in his capacities to earn her forgiveness. The Heir was loathsome and he knew that, he only hoped that he could win her back to him. In this case his pride did not quarrel with the rest of his mind. Because Sigyn was his pride and for her he would spare nothing, do everything she wanted him to do. All he needed was to be in her good graces, nothing else mattered. Alas the gut-gnawing feeling remained.

He pulled his non-present sight to the distance, taking all of the room into his vision. The female was left alone for the first time since he’d taken up the task of watching her, which was from the moment she’d set foot in the palace grounds. She did not waste these few precious trickles of sand for what they were meant to be used – reconciliation and recollection. There was something in her sad blue eyes (he disliked when they were so grimly colored), it was stubbornness. So the God of Deceit watched the commotion she reigned over. With minor discontent for he was not aware if she would not do something extreme.

She tore the flowers from her hair violently. Afterwards she removed a wrapped package from beneath the bride’s dress. It was obvious that she had something planned. Yet it was clear that while her stride was hindered by the bag, he was certain that she still ached from before. He winced at that, he would seek redemption by any means necessary.

When from the said container a blindingly colorful gown was taken he grinned wickedly. The Lie God should have known his lover was clever and cunning, there was no way that she’d allow to be dressed this horribly.

The tenseness in the girl’s shoulders told him of her great unease. The male should have looked away as she grasped the hem of the gown and proceeded to uplift it. He was aware of how much disharmony this prospect brought to her. However the green eyes could not be shifted away. With no sinful intentions he marveled at her bared breasts. The small mounds were perky and he wished to touch them. The young man always felt that for her – the need to touch her body, most of the time – innocently and without initiating any lust-inspired actions. This was also the case where he wanted to caress and console her without words. Yet he was a silent shadow and no indicators of his presence were allowed.

A twinkling strap on her leg called to his attention. When the God of Mischief understood what it was, it made some giddy bubble burst inside, shoving the guilt further away. Of course the emerald did not mean anything, but just that his Goddess and his favorite color were made for each other. He made a mental note to commission something deliciously green for her and there were so many silhouettes of gowns he wanted to see on her...  

Loki continued to observe without offering his attention to anything else, until Sigyn was almost finished with her swift actions. He doubted that if not for the eons of practice, had she been able to put on her make-up so quickly. Still a couple of touches were missing but she was already indescribably beautiful and rebellious satisfaction emanated from her. It was difficult to pull away, but the wedding would start soon and he could not afford sitting in his chambers. So with hopes of the woman faring well, the unseen and unfelt eyes vanished from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bathing rituals before weddings were common in most of Europe. Of course those were different in various parts of the continent (although I have read about old Norse traditions, which, if I remember correctly, were not fitting here because those would have taken place much earlier before the wedding), therefore I've incorporated only the general idea. And anyway this is about Asgard – not exactly the same as everything that took place in the Scandinavian countries at that time.  
> The idea of bathing had various meanings – like the 'washing away' of the previous life, carelessness of youth or even the previous wedding (divorce was possible by the laws of the Northern countries). In a later, more religious, sense – it could have been interpreted as the 'washing away' of sins.
> 
> One of the flowers in Sigyn's wedding crown is Ruta – rue. Rue has several meanings, such as being the plant to represent regret, called – herb-of-grace. Although its meaning here is something I've loaned from my own, Baltic mythology. In Lithuania rue called – Rūta, is the symbol of virginity, often incorporated in weddings, possibly in the form of a braided crown as well.  
> There is also mention of the flower in the mythological/folklore based book by Kazys Boruta – 'Baltaragio malūnas' (Baltaragis' windmill [Whitehorn's mill]), which was later made into a film under the name of 'Velnio nuotaka' (Devil's bride). Ruta/rue is mentioned there in the process of a betrothal arrangement (could be called 'matchmaking' because the deal can be struck or not); the possible groom brings a bottle, in the nozzle of which the flower is placed. Then the bride has to uncork it by plucking the rue out – this symbolizes deflowering (breaking of the maidenhead).


	13. Wedding. Part II

**Chapter thirteen**

**_Wedding_. Part II**

The bride overlooked the gathered guests, gazing through the sheer white veil. It was one of the things that was a must, however the guilty maidens that helped her dress had not managed to change anything else in the little time that was left before the ceremony.

She knew that Njord had to be looking angrily at her and the helpers would meet a punishment from him because they failed their given task. Bathed in glee she did not care and they deserved every shout that would befall their persons.

There was a huge crowd present, well over a couple of hundreds. The Goddess did not know most of the feast gatherers. Her party – not really for her. All in enthusiastic smiles and some with barely contained murmurings at the strange garb of the Vanir ‘maiden’.

Odin’s main hall was prepped up additionally for the occasion. The golden grandeur had never appealed to her liking. Of course nothing short of the best could please the grandfather-no-longer-grandfather. Reason to why the Allfather stood on the uplifted ‘stage’ of the great chamber. He would be the minister in this matrimonial celebration, overseeing the marriage of his old friend’s granddaughter.

In the flash of the moment Sigyn wanted the onlookers slain and drown in blood then and there, after an intricate agony laced end. She had never been this cruel to someone so undeserving, but they were here to see her execution (wedding). All eager no matter whether the sentence (or whether she was guilty at all) would be by hanging, beheading or by any other torturous means. These peasants deserved her wrath and mercy would not be shown to them. Their smiles taunted and insulted her, all their purpose was – was to see the open doors for the dead-woman walking. And what was a living-dead to do, if not hate the ones that sentenced her to death?...

The judgment-stalling girl knew that she could linger no longer. Her nails dug into the stems of the bouquet she had in her hands. This day the female was mean to innocent flowers. She slowly began approaching the scaffold (dais). The Aesir King seemed disinterested, uncaring yet keenly observing. She hated him too, he would be her executioner (the priest) and every prisoner despised the one to do them in. Who cared if he was her love’s father? She surely did not.

The Queen stood in all her shimmering glory, oblivious and reservedly happy. The young Lady could never understand the way Asgard worked. Why should the Queen stand a step lower (like now) or beside the throne of the King? Of course they were not equals here – she held no power, not really. Frigga was just a pretty jewel, a gorgeous trinket to Odin – how loathsome. The seething girl-woman would never allow her man to stand above her, no one was worthy of her if they were not equal to her. She could take the worshipping of her person – but would never return the sentiment. She was of Vanaheim, where Queens did not bow down to their Kings.

The Heirs were both absent from the uplifted area and she did not know whether they were present at all.

Her step was graceful, measured and as slow as possible. There were far too few familiar faces and far too many faux masks present, the latter were leering at her. She saw her household. The old God was frowning and she looked back at him defiantly. Lofn was overlooking her with unhidden jealousy, she could switch with her at any time, there was nothing to be envious of a walking corpse. Nanna radiated childish eagerness; ignorant sister, can’t you see that she’s approaching her demise? Don’t look at... Don’t look at... Syn and her empty, glassy eyes met her. Why did you have to look, she scolded herself. The woman felt acidic tears and she refused to shed them. She tried to take solace in the fact that the thin heels of her shoes resounded distractingly in the room, despite the plush red velvet carpet leading to her tomb... There was no Iwaldi to save her, nor Freya to object this farce. The Goddess felt like a little lost child amidst vultures and she was all alone...

She could not delay the inevitable any longer and so her line of sight met the groom. Theoric was as satisfied as she anticipated him to be, for he would soon have his maiden to ruin and fuck. Nausea returned at full force. The fright that encased her coexisted with, as well as spurred on, her rage. She wanted to tear out the man’s guts and see the bloody intestines in her claws, that gore would fill the space underneath her nails.

He was dressed in his signature Crimson Hawk armor. The Vanir girl reluctantly gave her hand to the despicable warrior as they faced one another. She did not register the cold limb she had in hers, although she anticipated a hot, clammy hand. Believing that this was happening – was too much, her psyche would not hold it. And so everything proceeded like in a horrific nightmare, if reality would be grasped – she’d snap.

The ceremony of binding began with the Allfather’s booming voice echoing in the great acoustics of the hall. Everyone listened. While the powerful, omnipotent God’s words were heard, they flew out through her ears. She repeated the vows without thought, they meant nothing to Sigyn. Nothing forced could ever chain her because that simply held no power over her. The marriage magic of the Aesir, even if done by the Odinfather, lost all its propriety when it concerned unwilling Vanir. What she droned on in a distant tone wounded her pride as well as her very existence. If her rationality had not been tossed beyond mountains, hills, seas and rivers far, far away – the Lady would not have been able to pronounce this blatant shit. And truth be told – she was lying aloud.

There was a squeeze of her hand from her husband-to-be. She was completely out of her mind, flying in clouds that were no longer within her grasp, which was the reason why she failed to even begin to examine the meaning behind the soft action. The tightening of the hold on her hand came when the King/minister said the oaths, which she had to resound about how the bride (she) should obey her husband, honor him, birth him heirs and etcetera, etcetera.

When the idiotic, masculine joy emanating groom began repeating his own set of vows (very different from the bride’s of course) there was something fake in it. She furrowed her brow, and beneath the veil it would not be seen or even if it was – she did not care. Perhaps Odin’s elite soldier knew that he’d sully the given oaths, but how could such a disgustingly obedient (when it came to those of authority and royalty) creature as Theoric, dishonor his ruler like this? That did not add up. Something was amiss but probably it was only her momentarily dysfunctional brain. Yes, it was most possibly the case.

The rings were exchanged. With burning hatred she willed the band to melt away. The sign of ownership was golden and covered with elaborate knots. She despised gold. The female’s hand was shaking as she had to put it onto the male’s stubby and rough finger. The tension was misinterpreted by the crowd and they were pleased by her unsteadiness. It slid easily, on hers – it had not. If the situation would have been any different she would’ve laughed at the ironic fate – the rings represented well the truth behind this unwanted union.

The placing of bands did not involve the rituals used by the mortals. No usage of old and new swords, representing the beginnings and ends, was incorporated. It was so because Gods believed their immortal existence to always be a beginning, however to the girl – the life of the deathless ones always resembled ends.

Thunderously Gungnir was brought down to the ground and it solidified her death. This was it: final words, the sentence, were announced by the Allfather. The kiss to seal the deal (those thought words reminded her of something that made her heart painfully stop for the moment) was to occur. The woman was unveiled and her talons sunk into the cut stems of the flowers, making their severed juices of life trickle down her fingers, dripping and staining the marble. Theoric’s physiognomy approached hers and she nearly vomited then and there. Breathing heavily she absently contemplated whether she should bite him until he’d bleed.

The warrior’s lips were a breath away from hers and at that deadly moment her vision swam. Something so glorious, so unbelievable caught her sight – snow white skin, green irises and black hair. Too quick, too fleeting. Their lips met. Ice, ice, ice all over – so numbingly pleasurable that she could die for. If this dream collapsed it would be too much of a hit to her very soul.

Sigyn kissed back forcefully, barely containing herself from grasping the envy-green coat’s lapels of the God of Mischief and never letting go. There was a gasp that rippled through the audience. The overpowering emotions that enveloped her denied the existence of the onlookers. She pulled away to see whether her eyes were deceiving her, the trademark grin that met her was pure eye-candy.

The Goddess tossed her bouquet of flowers away and may it hit some guest on the head, with her other hand she ripped the veil out of her hair and flung it aside. Her mad cackle reverberated across the grand hall and the Gods gathered were stunned into silence. Not wasting a second she jumped onto the tall Prince and locked her legs behind his back. He held her to him and reciprocated as she forced her sinfully sweet lips onto his. The kiss was wild, hungry, inappropriate and lustful. Her hands tugged at his dark locks and trailed over his cheeks – as if trying to keep him there; her hands could not be still and were moving haphazardly. The getaway bride pushed her tongue into his mouth and the Lie God did not fight against it. He cut the passionate contact short though, wanting to leave while everyone was still too lost to get in their path.

The Lady remained in the arms of the Trickster God as he confidently strode away, even if the steps were slightly rushed. Her insane laugh did not ebb away, it continued to frighten the disbelieving ones present.

A long walk was passed when the Allfather (the first to get out of the stupor) roared her lover’s name. But the son was faster than the father’s guards, who lethargically were brought back to coherency by the loud shout. The grand doors were opened and shut by a feisty wind (it was Loki’s potent power that had caused it).

The time slowed to the point where it was equivalent to eons, however there was no fright in both of the Godlings. The young woman heard the running footfalls of the approaching guards (and they were merely a couple of strides away beyond those heavy doors). The embrace of the God of Magic tightened, pressing her closer to him. The world surrounding them dissolved into inky whirls of smoke.

The lovers apparated away...  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had researched old Norse weddings, alas a bit unsuccessfully and mostly I've found only legal stuff about the wedding dealings and divorces.
> 
> Therefore in this story there are short mentions of traditions used in Midgard at that time: bride prices, dowries, morning gifts.
> 
> Specifically in this chapter and the previous, then there are other traditions that were used – but in various other contexts: like floral crowns – an actual wedding tradition, here used to signify supposedly Vanir customs; pre-wedding bathing – but unlike in the North countries, which mostly incorporated the use of a sauna; exchange of rings – also a part of the old traditions but there it involved swords.


	14. Honeymoon

**Chapter fourteen**

**_Honeymoon_ **

      

The ‘newlyweds’ appeared in the outskirts of Asgard. The Deceiver placed the girl onto the grassy, uneven terrain. Her hysterical laughter brought a grin to his face. She had to hold onto his forearm as she doubled over from the mirth through joyous tears. The fit died only when her lungs complained with a wheeze. She greedily inhaled air in loud gasps. Once the footing over herself was regained Sigyn tugged Loki down and pressed her lips hard on his. The contact was not long since breathing was still a strong necessity.

“Mischief...” she referred to him adoringly and breathlessly. Her eyes shined green just for him.

There was no time to waste, so he told her urgently.

“We need to get away”

The Goddess smiled and offered no words.

“We have to hide until the commotion diminishes. I was thinking of where we would not be searched for and there is only one place--”

She ended the sentence for him.

“The Unnamed Realms”

The young man chuckled at her cleverness, truly at times their thinking could be so much alike.

“Yes, that realm. I cannot enter there so we must begin our journey through the world atop the roots in order to reach it”

“Svartalfheim” was her affirmative to his suggestion.

“And you will walk us to the roots of Yggdrasill” the boy-prince’s hands found her bare shoulders, she leaned into his touch. “Come, we must hurry”

With a nod from the Lady he began leading them.

It was good that the portal he had placed in one of the many training grounds prior when visiting Geirrodur was nearby. The two young ones marched in a quick step and the Vanir was having a hard time keeping up, his possessive hold on her arm remained in order to steady her. Going through tall grass covered hills in high-heels was not a small feat. She often tripped and lacked her usual grace due to the ground they treaded upon. The needle-burnt runes on her wrists still kept her magic from her reach and that was the reason why her walk could not be evened out with energy. While helping the female was possible for the male he refrained because there was simply no time to adjust something that they could do without.

When the destination was reached, the woman stared in awe as the God of Magic unveiled the portal of his making. He could see how much she wanted to study it, however she understood their situation and did not stall the God of Lies. He swiftly inspected the archway with a critical glance to make sure everything was functional. With that done both of the Godlings stepped into it.

* * *

 

Evening had already fallen in Svartalfheim. The day-past died in that world, while Realm Eternal lived in a sunny midday. The duo entered into yesterday. A nostalgic wonderment overtook Sigyn, but it was cut short since they could not afford any breaks. Her heels were thrust into his hand and she travelled barefoot through a path that only she could see.

The Trickster Prince did not shield them from Heimdall’s gaze all the way in Asgard. The mixed power in the training grounds did it from there and it would take the Bifrost’s Guardian longer to find them (given if he was already looking for them, if he’d even be ordered to do so at all), then they’d need to leave this world of Dwarves and the disappeared Dark Elves.

The Lady was too concentrated in her steps to soak in the wonders of Svartalfheim.

* * *

 

Ashen grayness lingered on the horizon. It did not seem to get any closer until they actually entered the dead lands. And while the transition seemed gradual, in a sense it was also not. For the first time the Godling realized how mind-numbing the Goddess’s power was. The edges of his vision had blurred when he walked and it was dizzying. Perhaps it was why Sigyn always appeared so concentrated as she used this ability; either looking at the ground or straight forward. Even when she unknowingly traveled with the aid of her strange power – she was never observant of her surroundings (that was the case when he observed Syn and her sister’s journey to the seaside). The Master of spell-craft was no stranger to magic and that was why the effect was not great on him. He wondered how that would bode for someone who was not familiar with the indescribable, how their mentality would cope with this.

The beautifully dressed Prince overlooked the scenery and it did meet his expectations. The scorched panorama was not unsettling to him. It struck him how easily this escape had come. Alas it was not entirely correct – it took much planning as well as sleepless nights, and the toll on his physical-self had also been grand. Although all he did was so graceful that it created the illusion of ease, if watched from the sidelines. However his chosen craft was very difficult even if it appeared otherwise. There was also the knowledge that her worry had rivaled his and maybe it was even greater, most possibly it was so. On the cliff of the male’s subconscious ghosted the _fact_ that when he would return there’d be a fitting punishment waiting for him. He had already organized answers to the questions that would befall his person. But now was the time of celebration rather than the dreading of future, so he pushed those thoughts into oblivion for the moment.

He still had the Lady’s shoes in one hand and felt the satisfaction his companion rained all over. As his gaze found her, there was a contented smile that graced her features. He lightly remarked their prediction.

“What a bizarre choice for a honeymoon”

“ _Honeymoon_ , yes” she replied as her eyes lingered on him.

The young man arched an eyebrow in question. The word did hold a meaning that neither found acceptable, connecting with the traditional understanding of marriages, husbands and wives. It had even knotted his stomach when he’d heard his perfect lover recite the vows. But he believed that there was more to the mocking tone than their unconventional thoughts upon the norm.

At his non-vocal inquiry she elaborated further.

“We can’t really call this a honeymoon, for we’ve been married, in a sense, well before today” it felt weird when she referred to this day as ‘today’ when they were living in yesterday. He shrugged off the observation his brain offered. The girl continued “It would be correct to say that our union had taken place in Vanaheim”

Ahhh yes, the contract. That memory was very pleasurable indeed.

She began walking again and he followed not really aware whether she had a destination in mind or simply chose a random path blindly (if you could call vast deserts of sand as roads). Truly, this would be a unique interpretation of a honeymoon. There was no way to tell whether the time they’d spend here would equal a moon cycle – a month. And they had no mead with them to last the duration of this pleasant yet forced ‘vacation’. The strong drink made of sickeningly sweet honey was the representative of ‘honey’ in the term ‘honeymoon’. But there was no need for it because both could party without it. There was also the open question of lodgings, he was unfamiliar with this uncharted world, so he held no knowledge of possible shelters. The Master of Magic was sure that he could fashion something and it would be no less fun to spend time here than anywhere else.

“And if you would like to have a wedding, what would it be like?” he asked genuinely interested.

The female was a few steps ahead of him and without looking back she replied.

“Hmmm, well I’m content with our current deal. Even if I’d want some sort of ceremony then I guess I would not be appeased with just one. I mean a party can’t do harm, can it?” she said with a laugh. “Anyway, it would have to be by Vanir traditions”

“And those would be?”

“You got me there, the realm is dead”

The young God interjected.

“But also living”

“Right you are” the woman turned to him and did not cease walking, her walk was backward. However it was obvious that she did not have a problem with blind marching. “I don’t know much about weddings on Vanaheim, but I _feel_ that they are flexible enough to appease my liking”

“What would you fancy to incorporate in yours then?”

She corrected him with a sly smirk.

“Ours”

He grinned back at her.

“I’m not sure. I guess I don’t want many words in the vows. You know, just whatever you have on your mind about it or something like that. Maybe an exchange of some sort of markings on flesh, inked or similar. Could be a symbol--”

“Or a name” Loki said without thinking.

“Or a name” she echoed in agreement, which lit a sinister flame in the core of the God of Mischief. “Perhaps also a ritual of some sort”

His wide stride quickly caught up to her, she slowed as she saw him advancing. There was a mischievous sparkle to him and the Goddess watched him intrigued. The boy-prince loomed over her due to his towering height. Bending slightly he said, his voice silky and playfully sinful.

“And those rituals would involve lovemaking, no...?”

It was oh so entertaining to rile up her anger like that. Sigyn did not like his open flirt, it could push her into glares (thrown his way of course) and embarrassment. The combination of the two was always so adorable to the God of Deceit. She tried to press a narrowed gaze onto him, yet quickly looked away and in the darkness that reminded him of the term dark-light, he could not tell whether there was a smirk-inducing blush on her cheeks or not. Her nostrils flared as she exhaled forcefully, her feathers were ruffled alright. The girl mumbled quietly.

“Yes, that would be very Vanir like...”

“Oh, well then in that case I would be a very willing participant”

She snorted and still refused to meet his glimmering eyes.

“If you wouldn’t be, then it would not be a legit Vanir wedding”

It was a good thing that she was moving slowly (it was actually a surprise how she managed to pull the backward walk at all, considering the trailing end of her gown) for she would have most certainly tripped because of the sudden and unexpected contact. The God of Trickery softly pressed a kiss to the female’s temple and slinked back as if he had not just made her miss a step and barely gather her balance. When she managed to regain her footing, she promptly turned around and began walking normally, without sparing a glance the man’s way.

* * *

 

A good walk later the Dark Prince realized that the pleasant travel had not been in vain. In the horizon a structure of some sort arose and the girl-woman was confidently striding towards it. As they approached it he came to the revelation that it was not quite a building. It was a mountain with a huge cavern as an entrance point, but it was no phenomenon of natural kind – without the crafty hands of beings’ touch. It seemed like a fortress of some kind, whether left in the process of building or left to decay – he did not know.

As the two young creatures were close enough to it, to make out vivid detail, the male could not contain his curiosity any longer. The question he uttered lingered with hefty distrust, but it was not directed to the woman. When his voice left the confines of his throat she was stopped immediately.

“What is this?” the man phrased it simply but knew that the sole answer would most possibly not cut off the spawning of new ones.

She shrugged as she replied, her tone empty of hesitance.

“I honestly don’t know” and with that she offered no more.

“Is this the abode of the realm Guardians?” the idea of meeting them unsettled him. The God of Deceit had a nagging feeling of helplessness connected with it. Something told him that the ethereal beings would pose a threat greater than he could deal with, especially if their number was not meager in any way. If what he’d gathered was anything to go by, then it was obvious that they were nothing like Valkyries and opposed them in their very essence. He’d seen the fallen-warrior soul gatherers a couple of times, carried by winds above battlefields. While they seemed imposing on their winged horses – Pegasus, scouring the bloodied lands like hunting hounds, the Valkyries, he reckoned, were more of this reality than the Unnamed Ones.

The Lady shook her head.

“No... Yes, maybe... I don’t know” she was unbothered by the prospect that they could be intruding, however that did not ease the God of Mischief. “I’ve never seen them hang around here”

She continued towards the gateless gate. He was hasty to follow, with all the intent of yanking her back from this foreboding place if need be (although there was hope that it was an unnecessary worry on his part). Gracefully she stilled and the Heir barely caught himself from grasping her upper-arm like that of a disobedient child. All in smiles she overlooked the grand passageway, while he was more than just a tad frightened by the unknown. The entrance was large, larger than one needed to accommodate with air left for a Jotunn, a Goblin or a Troll. It was more befit to an enormous beast and it did nothing to calm the God.

“I know that it is empty at the moment”

“How can you be certain?” he asked in measured volume, all inner uncertainties concealed. Because her words puzzled him, the sorcerer sent a slimmer of his magic to scout the inside of this monumental mountain/castle. What happened next was not what he usually felt when scrying uncharted territory: his power did not fly by with ease and return to him, nor did it sizzle with an aftershock sent his way due to enchanted barriers. It was a first ever experiencing such, the green whiff of smoke that was his materialized energy moved without any difficulty, but along the way he lost contact with it. Although that was not really correct, it felt as if the magic he separated from himself fell into a bottomless pit, an abyss so dark that were you to toss something in it, there would be no sound to testify the existence of a bottom. The sensation shook the core of the God of Magic. He was met with a reality – that he was pretty much not part of any reality, it was as if he was pushed into the negative space or a void. As if scalded with boiling water the Godling called back his power to him, but Sigyn’s answer overshadowed the fact whether the sent energy managed to return to him or not.

“Maybe it’s the Vanir in me speaking, but I simply _feel_ that there is no one inside” she chuckled at her own words. “Without a doubt I can tell you that the Guardians have noticed us when we first stepped foot in this world. They acknowledged us and chose to leave us to our own devices” what neither of the Godlings knew, was that the Unnamed Ones had metaphorically held their breaths (because there was no actual need for air when it concerned something that could be referred to as ‘dead’) for the success of this union and their arrival. Fate was ever-changing and even creatures as seemingly disconnected and all-knowing as they – did have outcomes that were anticipated and such that were dreaded.

“If anything, they are allowing us to call this palace a temporary haven. Now come on” the petite girl took hold of his wrist and started dragging him along into the enigmatic structure. The God of Lies did not fight it, even in this situation he did not mind her commanding. He did take notice of how she referred to this... thing as a ‘palace’. However disturbing the knowledge of _them_ being aware of this was, he opted to trust his lover (wife actually, but he did not fancy calling her that). If he would not believe her on this, any of this, then it would have made no sense to choose this realm as their refugee. Loki loathed being left in the dark, with which came the possibility of being rendered useless, but he was already aware that this would be a situation far less in his control than he would have preferred.

As they ventured deeper, the wary magician was not greeted by the complete, overpowering darkness he had felt when pressing his magic into this ‘palace’. There were stalactites and stalagmites that emanated an unnatural, pale, tinged with blue, light from their very cores. Whatever omnipotence that this fortress radiated evaporated entirely when the long cave ended.

The Lie God’s suspicions were proven correct – this was indeed not a place formed by the unceasing changes in the terrain. There was a lot of intricate work invested in the making and yet the solid, blackened stone was left unhewn in many places. His ingenious mind was quick to figure out this mystery of abandonment, it wasn’t abandonment – the work was left unfinished in order to be continued later. He remembered the Goddess saying that the realm dwellers were anticipating a Ruler. Therefore this castle, built into the very heart of the mountain, was probably the only of its kind throughout this world. It remained unfinished in order to allow the new King or Queen, or overseer, or whatever it was that they wanted to call the one to rule over all of this, to forge this palace by their own wishes. But there was one significant puzzle-piece missing – what was the young woman’s, that he dared to call his, play in this? At the thought that perhaps _she_ was to be that awaited person, the boy-prince’s insides clenched. Not only did her never-idling character oppose this position, but there was also his own selfishness that mingled in the brew. He could never get in the way of her undying desire to travel, however with that he knew that he could find her at any given time. This, this however could leave her not only out of his reach – but that could also be a permanent state. It was too unthinkable to think about and he barely made himself quit these impossible, difficult, nerve-wracking, heart-wrenching thoughts.      

The chamber was humongous, branching into many passageways that darkness reigned over (or perhaps it was just an illusion, like in the case of the entrance). What was most strange, no matter the gateless state of this building, was that this first area did not resemble a hall in any way. It was empty except for a couple of pieces of furniture: two long lounges, one facing south, the other – east. They seemed newly made, unused as well as left for ages untouched. The area, as well as the seats, was not covered in eons of grime and dust, although it still held a certain cobwebbed appearance.

The female merrily skipped towards the center of the room and the young man sighed. She was an eerie balm to him and that was frightening all on its own. However it was not enough to make him lower his guard completely. This whole plan seemed like such a spontaneous, last-minute thing – but it was not. There had been quite a lot of time and thought invested in it.

As she sat upon one of the long, luxurious grey lounges, sprawling in all her height, there was enough space left by the armrest to accommodate him as well. Her intention was clear – she was going to use him as a reclining point; it was not just the expectant gaze that beckoned to him but his own wish as well. And so the God of Deceit strode towards his inviting lover. When he carelessly discarded her shoes the low thud made his attention stray downwards, there was a sizable ebony carpet fashioned from the fur of some unseen beast. He joined her, the girl-woman curled into him. The action made him recline and close his emerald eyes.

The Prince of Asgard opened them after a while and his gaze met the tall ceiling. His apparent distraction hit him then, it was a rarity to not notice something as this. Across the chamber and its walls giant roots, unbefitting of any kind of tree he’d ever witnessed, extended, in some places they even disappeared into the floor. It was not part of the décor, nor did they serve as nervures. These were truly roots of a tree, but not just any tree – they were _Yggdrasill’s_ roots.

The World Tree had always been represented as a metaphor and not an actual plant, it was a legend to explain the formation of the Nine Realms. This was unfathomable, this... the fact that it actually existed in all its literality. The roots of ash were not hanging in the cosmos, but were sprouted in a mountain and enveloped the Unnamed world itself from within. This crooked revelation made a smirk appear on the male who sat beneath Yggdrasill. He cared not for rationality in why this made a certain appeal arise in his mind, however now he understood by at least a fraction why the Lady adored this place so.

The God of Mischief stared at the one that rested beside him. There was shifting that signaled the lack of comfort. Her dreamy eyes sought out a pillow, one of the many strewn across the other seat. With a flick of the wrist from the Master of Magic she had it in her hands. It was not just a meager trick to please Sigyn, especially when he was so mentally and spiritually exhausted. This unnecessary in essence act proved to the magician that he could still, without any resistance, use his magic. It pleased him to know that the Unnamed Realms did not limit his power.

The elaborately embroidered pillow was soon placed in his lap and the Vanir laid her head atop of it. Everything stilled and the God of Lies thought that he could spend _forever_ like this, with her eyes gazing into his. The silence was blissful, not strained in any sense. The successful yet insane scheme did not bother his, more often than not, overthinking mind. In this moment, in this realm, everything else ceased to exist. They were the only beings in the vast, unending Universe.              

The woman’s melodic voice broke the pleasant quietness of the chamber.

“Mmmmm... I want...” she trailed softly. His attention was stolen completely and he knew that whatever she asked, if it were in his abilities to realize, would be done. Even if it meant going to extreme lengths in order to grant her wishes.  

One of his hands was taken into her own and he had already figured out what she possibly wanted of him. Her soft touch caressed the finger which the wedding band was supposed to encircle. He hoped that the Goddess would not ask of him to wear the golden ring that now rested in his pocket and awaited its destruction.

“...I want” she repeated, while still touching the ring-less finger “A band to be inked on the skin with enchanted ink”

The young God smiled lovingly.

“So that the marking would be seen under certain conditions or just by a certain person?”

“No, not quite. I want it to be done in black, etched with a needle. It would be laced with magic so that it would be easy to conceal”

He wanted to say aloud his agreement but her thoughtful expression (with furrowed eyebrows and all that) held him back. The man waited for her to voice whatever she was analyzing.

“Do you think this idea to be silly?”

The Throne Heir understood that she was not asking about his opinion on the suggestion. Her intention was to be told whether there were any holes in her request, which could potentially cause harm to them both in the future. Yes, Asgard already knew of the Trickster God’s ‘prank’, but there was more than Realm Eternal to take into account. However, he did not see anything that could thwart this wondrous want to mark each other permanently.

“No, I do not. And it will be done, love” he reminded himself to keep repeating the word, not just to make it sink in to her, but for himself as well. The God of Trickery needed to engrave that into his brain, after having spent many centuries primarily thinking only about himself, now there was someone else in the picture. Sigyn was _his_ and her affection needed to be nourished. She had become a part of him... no, they were a singular unit (their joining had proven thus, in a strange Vanir-like literality) and it could never be forgotten or severed. It was the reason why he resolved not to tear at his _soul_ , even if the bond was unbreakable – he still promised to himself to take care of it, water it as if a plant.

Her face lit up and shined brighter than the sun. Her happiness warmed him so thoroughly, he felt the harmless flame in every fiber of his being. And the conversation reminded the Lie God that the Lady had probably not noticed the change in the band he had placed on her lithe finger during that dreadful ceremony.

“Look at your ring, Sigyn”

Mildly confused she did as he told and awe overtook her gorgeous features. It was no longer a golden band with carefully inlaid knots, no, there was something else entirely. Her forefinger was hugged by a large silver ring, it was a snake with green diamond eyes. For a while she was speechless.

“Loki, it’s so beautiful!” she said no more and brought him down for a kiss. The angle strained his neck but it was more than worth it. The trouble he went through to commission the piece of jewelry was also not in vain.

The girl believed the breathtaking gift to be Dverger made. She could tell that it was silver, although what the emerald-tinted gems were – she did not know exactly, but she was more than sure that the serpent’s eyes were expensive. The fact that this was no ordinary trinket, but fashioned on a custom order – did not escape her. And how did he know her ring size? Maybe, enchanted metal? And how, how did he find the time to do it? But she knew that it was of no use to ask, it would only cause that damnably attractive smirk to appear, which would melt her like the heat of fire did ore and make her feel foolish all at once.

For an hour or so they conversed and debated things at random, both in such high spirits that they were lulled into uncaring for how jumbled the topics were. However that was never a problem, since both had a thing for chaos, one even pretended to the post where he would god-over the element.  

One of her inquiries struck a chord deep within the heir. He realized that he had dreaded this moment.

“What happened to Theoric?”

While his reply came instantly, his psyche had already gone through the outcomes that could befall him. Yes, he knew that what he had done was unforgivable but it was a _necessity_. The lie was begging to roll of his venomous-deceit dripping tongue, but he refrained from giving it reign. It was not up to questioning – the ability of the God of Lies to oh so perfectly convince nearly anyone. Perhaps even his love could fall prey to his vocal trickery (she had before, but it had never concerned such important topics). Her reaction could be vary, and rejection, disgust – frightened him most.

They were one but he was aware that he was the darkness of this being, and there was no chance of knowing how much she understood and embraced that. The Vanir female had a penchant for violence, but the royalty of Asgard sincerely doubted that her dagger had tasted the bittersweet nectar of death. It was more than believable that her actions had physically harmed someone at some point, although that was not the same. It was better not to leave faith-destroying secrets between them. The man rarely relied on blind hope but that was all he had in his deck now.

“He’s dead” the answer was as neutral as possible. He looked straight to the woman that lied on his lap. He was waiting for the harsh judgment, betting everything on the belief that it would not occur.        

“Good” it was as simple a response as responses could be. There was nothing that indicated any sort of emotion behind it.

Indeed, the male was surprised. Under his scrutiny she looked away. He was flung off kilter and could not discern why she refused to meet his eyes. It seemed like embarrassment or something of the sort. On his end there were no words issued, he had even managed to not repeat in disbelief what she had said.

“I-I mean, I didn’t know him well enough to say whether he deserved whatever he got but... But I can’t help feeling glad that he no longer looms like doom over my head. In this situation it was _him_ or _me_. It could not have been resolved peacefully, reasonably... A decent man or not, he would not have taken ‘ _no_ ’ for an answer. If... if not for my cowardice I would have gotten rid of him myself, but I was afraid that I could not win by any means over an elite warrior who had taken out creatures far superior to me in that sense. Even if I had managed to do it, slay him in sleep or at a vulnerable moment, escape, past that point, would have been impossible... Well, there would not have been much choice but to take my own life as well afterwards. I cannot bring myself to care for his demise, there is no guilt to bear either. If that makes me a horrible person, then I guess I can take that without complaint, for I have chosen survival over general goodness”

The young God could not fault her logic. In the case of her betrothed’s death by her hand, evading being found out as the culprit was very, very unlikely. The Master of Magic did not doubt the young Goddess’s skill, she was quite adept in that area. However it would not have been enough, her knowledge, theoretical and practical, would have proved to be insufficient. Hiding anything from Odin was exceedingly difficult and the youngest son intimately knew the art of tricking the wisest of Gods – the Allfather. The murder of Theoric had required so much of his power and Sigyn, as powerful as she was, could not rival the God of Magic in the sphere he was so great at. Thinking about what would’ve become of her after the trail for such a crime was more than unpleasant. No matter what reasons she would claim, no matter how truthful they were, it would not redeem her in any way. And the punishment... the punishment would be cruel and unmerciful, her high birth (for she was a princess-not-really-princess of Vanaheim) would not lessen it.

She continued with this apathy-tinted conversation (appearing to be unbothered by the content), although it still scratched at his subconscious with little, sharp claws.        

“This talk is not for now, but I’ll still want you to tell me how it happened at some other time”

The Godling nodded, he could not let the lie live in sound. Cursing himself despite it, because the notion was anything but the truth.

“Did you kill him with your own hands?” it was a bold question. The fact that there was no prejudice in her tone played no part (it felt as if they were discussing books over tea or something akin to that), the God still wanted to desperately answer with anything but the affirmative.

“Yes”

And the young Lady did not even flinch, it was incomprehensible. She hummed quietly to herself and took one of his hands again in a soft grasp. She stared at it lightly and her touches were soothing. The Prince, who was sitting as if on needles, felt energy tenderly enter his skin through her fingertips.

“His blood is on your hands and yet I can’t feel anything different about them. They have not been soiled by it, even in the spiritual sense”

Loki barely contained a scoff. Surely, she could not be that naïve.

“This is not the first time that I have killed someone” he simply had to make her understand that, he was not a saint and he did not murder only for her protection. There had been missions that involved such deeds, going from fights to assassinations, long before she made her appearance in his existence.

The resting woman snorted.

“I’m not stupid, Loki. I am well aware that you are a Prince of Asgard who actively serves his duty of protecting the realm. Even if the Aesir don’t count you as a warrior, you are a sorcerer that can outdo many of the elite. Their opinions cannot sway the fact that you are valuable and far too powerful to keep away from eliminating the threats of war. So no, I didn’t think that you had not seen a great deal of horrors or that you had never slain anyone”

While he was fishing for words without any luck, her spilled words did not cease.

“And besides” the hand she had in between hers was brought atop her heart, touching her right breast “I would not have allowed you to do things with these hands on me if I had considered them unworthy...”  

The God of Mischief entwined his fingers with hers. He squeezed tightly. Her smirk was inspiring and soon they had shifted on the couch. She was atop him and they were smothering each other with passionate kisses.

What was time for those who did not count it? Somewhere in the expanse of it, the young man came to a revelation of two conflicting concepts that in some mysterious way existed in harmony. He realized that he could make love to her then and there, although it was not simple lust. He was not aroused like that and neither was the Vanir Goddess. Her very essence requested being worshipped eternally and he would always be ready to oblige without a second’s delay. It was something not many could grasp, the vague correction was that it was not clear whether _any_ could understand it. Two contrasting realities that created a perfect paradox. However it was not surprising at all, Sigyn often inspired such peculiar and unexplainable feelings. And the Heir expected no less of such a marvelous enigma as she.        

The make-out session died down, still lingering pleasantly in their heavy breaths. At some point he had gotten atop of her, neither cared for the positioning – it did not rely on power. The God of Deceit was not one to submit willingly, despite whatever the loss of control (or to whom it was lost) meant. Although with her – domineering did not come from such physical indicators, it was always more on the mental level than any other. Even that was all games, for in whatever case, they were truly and undeniably equal.

Her loving, forever color-indecisive eyes strayed from his form. Something had caught her attention and made her thin eyebrows rise up. A childish-happiness reflecting grin took rule of her features. He followed her line of sight and when it met what had triggered her merrily surprised reaction, it did not leave him in the same state.

Not far from the two gray lounges stood a moderately small table, fashioned of some sort of shiny stone and glass or a variation of something similar – the piece of furniture had not been there previously. It was breaking from a wide array of food (not literally, the low table was quite sturdy). The unfelt appearance of it was unsettling and rang alarm bells in his head. There was no presence that could have placed it there and no spell that the Master of Magic could have detected. The fact unsettled him further because no matter how the table had come to stand in this place – he had not noticed it. If it was truly the effect of the Unnamed Realms, then it was troubling, more so because the Lady was not fazed by this at all.

While the imposing frown wearing magician was still attempting to unravel this mystery, knowing that he had not been too carried away to lose all awareness of his surroundings, the girl easily untangled herself from beneath him. He allowed her to push him off unceremoniously, although he was aware that he shouldn’t have. A tight hold on her wrist had nearly happened for he wanted to stop her, though there was no valid reason, except for pure paranoia, that he could voice.      

Much to the relief of the God of Lies her bravely careless step paused by the damned piece of furniture. Measuredly and not hastily he joined the female, with barely contained need to put his hands on her shoulders in order to stop anything that she might do. He did not hide the heavy distrust that he felt, it was reflected in his face.

The surface of the table was full of strange, never tasted delicacies stacked in various plates and tiers, one atop the other. Her orbs danced about it with no idea on what to focus on. Her smile would have been infectious if not for the situation.

“We’ve been expected it seems” she said without tearing her gaze away.

“Indeed” he agreed dryly.

The young woman sat down on the carpet and he reluctantly followed suit. She probably felt his unease, therefore without meeting his deep irritation displaying eyes, she tried to reassure him.

“I had not expected this, but this is not all that weird though. I’ve been brought food by them before. Considering the fact that they’ve allowed us into their realm and even accepted us, this might have even been foreseen. I haven’t visited this world enough to create a basis, but I know enough to say that this is not impossible to explain”

The Lie God had summarized as much, still it did not really placate him. There was nothing that revealed poison to be found in the not-really-meager feast (considering its size by the fact that there were just two guests). The variety was stunning or perhaps it was just because most of these edible products he’d never seen or tasted. He noted that there was no meat or fish present. There were fruits, roots, various mashes and by the appearance, he believed that there were some desserts as well. Some of the fruits resembled twisted versions of what one could find across Yggdrasill, however most of the comparisons were made with what was available in Asgard. He thought that many would have been revolted by some of the dishes – the fruits that looked either rotten or burned. But there was one bowl that would definitely send most Aesir scurrying away, it was filled with unmoving beetles that had some of their parts removed. It did not disgust Loki though, he did not have a weak stomach and did not care for the appearance of what he ate, as long as it tasted good. There were also carafes and decanters filled with some sort of liquids, alas from a glance alone he could not tell what sort of beverages those were.

“I haven’t tried half of this before, maybe more!” she rubbed her palm in gleeful expectation.

It was difficult to decide but the Godling relented. He had not planned for this, he had summarized before that they would keep hunger away by what food he could conjure as well as what they could find in the realm with the aid of the Vanir’s knowledge. She was not one to meticulously plan her travels, so she did not care much to bring anything edible with her, her gathering skills as well as the hospitality of others was how she did not starve (not that a lack of food could efficiently kill a God, immobilize or weaken – yes, but not bring death). Trusting her judgment on this was reasonable but it was hard to shirk one’s habits, and his habit of questioning everything was deeply rooted.

The girl plucked a large graying fruit from the table, he recognized it to be a warped version of a pomegranate (but the fruit was not of Realm Eternal, though the God of Mischief knew it anyway). His assumption was proven correct when she without any difficulty split it in half. The many seeds encased in dark ruby were visible, at least visually they looked no different from what he had eaten before. The same hued juices ran down Sigyn’s fingers.

She brought one half to lips and he thought that she was going to bite it. However it was more of an openmouthed kiss than anything else, and the juice dyed her lips red. The one side that had been blessed by her was then with a smirk extended to him. Momentarily the Prince was reminded in a flash of the black apple, as quick as the memory arose, it disappeared just as swiftly. Slowly but without hesitance he accepted the offered pomegranate. And despite the livid fear of something being amiss he began eating it, not minding the seeds and swallowing them too. The Goddess ate her half as well. Somewhere subconsciously he thought of serpents, apples, pomegranates and being bound in the dark – it didn’t make any sense at all. But his subconscious was often a labyrinthine place better left undisturbed.

The ‘newlyweds’ ate and drank to their fill. The feast was unending – food did not lessen, beverages were not halved. This celebration was followed by cheery conversation and careless laughter. Wariness was a guest not invited and all doors for it were closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About the Dark Elves, back when they were first mentioned in this story I hadn’t known that they would be part of the second movie. I simply thought that writing about them was a hassle, since I had no idea how to separate them from the Light Elves, so I just left them as a mysteriously disappeared race and I didn't think of mentioning them again. Even when the trailer for Dark World was out I hadn’t gathered that it would incorporate them. Later when I had read slightly about the movie I realized that it did, but I didn't think much on it since I hadn’t known the actual story and whether it would be possible to incorporate in Prophecies. After watching the film I found that it could be and my mentioning the Dark Elves was a fortune coincidence. The second film of Thor will be kept part of this story (perhaps it will be altered slightly though).
> 
> Nervure – the way I've used this word (in my knowledge) is actually incorrect in English. I've used the French meaning of it, which in that language, as well as in some others, is a term in architecture. A nervure is an intricate pattern used within buildings on ceilings, while they seem to be just decorations those vines actually serve as support. They are frequently seen in Gothic architecture because in the previous Medieval period – Romanesque style, then buildings had a plentitude of arcs, the tops of windows, doors and ceilings were round. But since the structures themselves were very heavy they often cracked and needed reconstruction quickly. Therefore the next influence in architecture (the Gothic period) was similar to Romanesque, but it had sharper, more triangular lines in their ovals; nervures were also used to strengthen ceilings.
> 
> In the Marvel movies the Ash Tree – Yggdrasill is just a way to divide the Nine Realms – a tiny portion of cosmos. Here, the fic is actually leaning to the myths and Yggdrasill is actually some sort of mystical tree and yet not exactly one.
> 
> Sigyn's thoughts on Theoric's demise – I wanted that to fit the character that she is in this fic. Here, Sigyn is not a villain but not someone saint-like in her morality. She would not approve of meaningless violence, but to her it was an inescapable situation. The goddess was ready to choose death – living in marriage with the man was just that unthinkable. So while she thought that maybe she would actually have the gall to kill a person, if she'd have the power and punishment for the crime would be removed as a possibility, there is no way to be sure of the validity of that statement. The lady loves life, however she was ready to die, so Theoric's death becomes her ticket to freedom and having no actual attachment to him – she feels no guilt. Therefore her character is not 'evil' but she has the capacity of foregoing great morality.
> 
> The pomegranate fufufufufufu –laughter– more shameless references to Greek mythology. It was the same fruit with which Hades trapped Persephone in the Underworld. Since pomegranates were fruits of his domain, consuming such would trap any being of the world above.
> 
> The black apple from chapter eleven, I have actually not noticed what kind of meanings it had when I had written the chapter. Only later I realized the connections. In the biblical myths of the creation of mankind, Adam and Eve are forbidden from tasting fruit from one tree in paradise. However a serpent tempts Eve and she plucks one of the apples – which lead to their banishment from heaven as well as gaining of knowledge. It can be said that Loki unknowingly tempted Sigyn with the fruit he had conjured and there are even connections that he has with snakes.
> 
> The god of lies thinking of serpents, for one – it can be attested to the references mentioned above, also to the fact that his punishment until Ragnarök consists of being bound beneath a venom dripping snake.
> 
> Being bound in the dark is an actual reference to his punishment before Ragnarök.


	15. Observation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is of mixed views upon different places. I think it is pretty clear where one will begin and the other will start, however in case it is not – then italics are the happenings occurring in another realm.
> 
> I thought long about whether I should do it this way, however I reckoned that the (possibly) weird observation is necessary to form and explain the opinions that will arise in the next chapters.

**Chapter fifteen**

**Observation**

In the Unnamed Realms, within the unnamed fortress the sole two occupants were content. Sigyn beckoned Loki for a walk. He did not know where he was led to but he followed. The feast had not been a thing to regret. All of his lifelong knowledge of magic, power and poisons had told him that the food he had stored in his stomach was not hazardous in any way.

The young man did not object to the idea of exploring the palace built within the mountain. His beautiful companion appeared to know where she was headed and he was alright with letting her do as she pleased. Words were unneeded, he understood her intentions well enough.

From the large oval chamber they took one of the many pathways. Initially they had seemed drown in darkness but it was not so. The inside-burning crystals illuminated the way, it was not overbearingly bright. No sharp stalactites hung above, as there were in the round hall – where they threatened to fall at any moment. The cave was wide and appeared to end in pitch-blackness or created the illusion of a never ending abyss in front.

The green-garbed Prince was lulled into a state of trance, complete equilibrium inside, like an unsuspecting victim fallen to a chanting tune. He did not mind and most of the journey his eyes were closed. Despite the dungeon-likeliness of this dome the ground was even and lacked the debris of an unkept or abandoned abode. Therefore the blindness did not hinder his gracefulness for there was nothing to trip over. The rest of the time he observed the wonderful natural creations because they had not been tampered with by crafty creatures.

The male could never stand the moist air that often lingered underground: the way it created puddles that squelched beneath his boots, the way the walls were damp and slimy, covered with moss and lichen, reeking of mold and mildew. However there was none of that, the dryness of this world extended even down below. He briefly wondered whether there were any bodies of water present in this realm of vast deserts that never ended. He had not seen anything even remotely resembling water – the clouds had been reminiscent of ash, the trees and plant-life scarce and barren. Although it would not have been too unexpected in his great understanding of the abnormal that this charred vegetation could produce such succulent fruits.

From one of the dark rock walls a big root emerged and disappeared into it again. There were more of them along the path. It shook the God in a foreboding way, he felt respect for what truly was. No matter how much of a scholar he was, no matter how much he could comprehend – seeing Yggdrasill for what it actually was – was an indescribable experience. For a moment he thought about the depth of this revelation, he was so close to the core of the very Nine Realms his existence orbited around. What power this place held over the trunk and branches... Trees, trees could he cut down – destroyed; if you destroyed the roots – you destroyed it all. Alas the Godling was too young to understand the truth that this kind of knowledge was never meant for Gods to have...            

The young Goddess walked with a clink of her heels against the moderately hewn stone as the cave gradually began lowering. The God of Mischief had not noticed when the ground had changed – it was no longer the natural, slightly worked flooring, now it was of black marble or some other polished material. It glistened in the steady but dim white light. The crystalline light bathed the expanse slightly, softening the edges, leaving the dark palette as it was, but it was nothing like the light of day, which was sharp and well defining – yet warping.

Soon the descending floor morphed into winding stairs. Shined as if dust of age simply refused to touch them, but not slippery at all. The stairs were in sizable circles as they went down. The staircase itself was wider than the two younglings could occupy walking side by side, however the woman marched first. He did not care whether she chose this path by chance and did not know where it led to. The man was alert but calm when treading into the unknowing.

The square shaped archway was large and fashioned of the same material as the stairs. The female entered without stopping, while he paused by the doorway. She emanated energy that clearly stated her familiarity with the area, indeed they had not traveled at random. Her steps were muffled by something but his studying gaze was inspecting the walls of the spacious room. The same endless darkness greeted his sight and like in the oval antechamber there were cool-light lit stalagmites and stalactites protruding from the walls, floor and ceiling. There was nothing special or different about this part of the dome.

The death of the barely there sound told him that she had ceased moving, his vision enforced and confirmed the assumption – as the girl-woman stood with her back to him. Then he took in the rest of the chamber. All over the expanse of the floor there was a dense mist roaming about, it coiled about her in its slow movement and she paid it no mind. However his senses indicated no existence of water about, for no dampness was felt, as if this fog was different in its essence. But his senses were deceived because a great portion of this underground room was occupied by a pool that was nothing if not created by the hands of beings. The edges of the pool were same as the flooring and as the stairs left behind, all in straight, precise lines. The waters were black and shimmered in waves that should not have been present with the inexistent winds.

The God of Lies approached his beloved and placed his hands on her bare shoulders. He had already summarized the reason behind this seemingly exploration-based journey. She leaned into his touch, her back pressing against his clothed front.

A funny thing was the mind, for even when you knew a certain thing, it could still bring out the element of surprise when it was fully grasped. The young Lady was short – he was aware of that, but the way she held herself, with such a regal yet careless air, somehow managed to hide the slightness of her form. He was used to seeing her in high-heels, even now she wore such footwear. Despite their many (yet so few) meetings, he had not often been standing quite this close to compare the difference in their heights. No matter the uplifting shoes, the Vanir was still so much smaller than him and so petite, borderline skinny.

Their destination had uncovered her intentions and the Trickster God contemplated how this was supposed to proceed. He doubted that she was planning on entering the water in the vibrant gown, garb fitting to be called swimwear was most definitely not something she had grabbed on this dreadful-turned-joyous day (and neither had he). The God of Deceit sincerely hoped that she was not going to stay in that far too plain, white corset she had underneath. He kissed her shoulder and wondered how this swim would go.          

* * *

 

After the initial shock had ebbed away, Lord Njord realized that he was furious. It was like Freya all over again! No matter how hard he tried, his position would always be followed by the remnants of his scorned kin. He was seething but his composure did not represent anything of the boiling that took place inside him.

The elder God recognized the same state encompassing his King as well. Their meeting was the first thing that had happened after this mockery of a wedding. The Queen had been so utterly confused that he did not recognize any sort of anger towards this ruined celebration in her.

For what he was glad – was the fact that the Allfather (the Vanir God never considered to refer to the Aesir Leader simply by name, despite the truth that they were on equal grounds and that it would not have been inappropriate) had not forced the blame for this fiasco onto him. Nothing was said on the account of his wayward granddaughter, but that was perhaps because Odin believed the second-born to be no less a lash to his fatherly pride. The situation was the same for both the Ruler and ex-Ruler – their parenting skills had failed in some aspect.

He did not even think of raining his displeasure on the King though. To the Nobleman, the fact that Loki was the son of Odin played no part, none at all. They were two separate beings, no matter the ties of blood. Whatever the Trickster had done had no connections to the Odinfather whatsoever. He could not believe that the Allfather of Asgard had wronged; he only had honest respect for the God.

Njord did not fully blame Sigyn for this event that should never have happened. If she had known anything about it, she would not have managed to hide it from him – the morning of the wedding day she had looked completely shattered in mourning. Foolish child! Did she not know that all he did was for her gain? It had to be some sort of innocent-maiden jitters that had set her off so! And yet she did not appear frightened at all by the Prince who had revealed himself as her groom-- nay, _husband_.

He wanted to grind his teeth in frustration at the idea, no – reality, that had come to be. There was no way to undo these sacred – now tarnished, vows of marriage. The God of Seas and overlooker of fishermen had never wished to bind himself to his Majesty like this. There was no desire to attain a higher station in court – he was content with what he had. And his granddaughters, at least at the very moment, were unsuitable to be the brides of the Throne Heirs.

Yes, his granddaughter had always been odd compared to the norm. However he had never cared for her eccentric actions and way of dressing, he simply believed it to be the grandchild’s way of compensating for his daughter’s past (and current) behavior. Often did creatures compensate in strange ways, they sometimes drew the negative attention to themselves by some questionable means – in order to keep the gaze of others away from the direction of something that they wanted to conceal.

Since her infantile years Sigyn was interested in things she should not have been. As a responsible caretaker he had hoped that it would dissipate with years, without his direct interference. There were times where his patience would snap but that was very rare, his sea-like persona was rarely engulfed by grand storms. However she had not changed, only become cleverer in hiding and gaining the things or knowledge that she so desired. The girl was a daydreamer, a rebellious soul and worst of all – she found her passion to be magic. Not arts, music or ballroom dancing, nor weaving, embroidery and of course not culinary or gardening – but magic! He had told her not once that this was not Vanaheim, she was Asgardian and she _had_ to understand it. Magic overall was frowned upon and in the hands of a female – completely unacceptable. But could Freya’s child ever listen? No, far from it!

The Lord had tried to convince himself that this could be righted or that time could fix it, if both could not – then marriage surely would. And it would have succeeded, she would have become a splendid wife and maybe, just maybe a member of the court, perhaps even a healer (but never a sorceress, it was not a worthy position in his and Asgard’s eyes). All of this was laid to ruin because of a mere prank! Oh, and oh did his foolish Godling-girl care? Of course not! And it was clear to him that her deep fascination with spells and all connected to them had made her laugh merrily when she saw a Master of Magic, after he had shed his disguise.

Woe is him! How would he now save her, once she realized what the younger Prince wanted from her and once he took that from her? If she, the stupid, stupid babe would not mind it, then surely she would when the prankster would abandon her. The old Vanir made himself hold onto the hope that she would return in tears, but angry and fixable. Then it would be in his abilities to mend her and only after would he punish her in a way she deserved.

He’d use all his power over the high-society to marry her off again. Somehow this current union could be annulled, for it was all based on a trick, surely the laws could be rewritten for this one case. Perhaps no one of such high stature would take her again; ruined, deflowered – no one would choose such for a bride. And leftovers of the God of Mischief no less! But he could still sway some man of noble birth to wed her, he had to – for her sake. Maybe if Odin would hurry, then just maybe they’d manage to retrieve her in time from the clutches of the royal brat.

At least if it were the elder son to ask for the hand of one of his girls, he would have offered to wait, and if the Thunder God would’ve refused – then he’d have begrudgingly allowed it. The Crown Prince was respectable, if not a tad rash, but they were still young, still kids under all that guise – it was something that he could forgive. Alas this was not the Golden boy, it was the Dark one that had ferried his granddaughter away, with neither word nor inquiry.

Loki was questionable but the Lord had given him the benefit of doubt, perhaps it was simply tricks that caught fire like dry hay and spread into made-up stories. Nothing festered as fast as gossip. But this, this was over the line! Prince or not, he dared to defile something sacred! Come what may but the Allfather had to punish his snake of a son for this accordingly! Njord would take it no other way.  

There were no apologies from either of the powerful Gods. Both parties held the young God of Deceit to be responsible for this mess, this blasphemy. The wedding guests had been ushered out and the two Rulers had closed themselves in one of the smaller court chambers, to discuss this matter and how best to pluck it from root. In the meantime Heimdall, the Guardian of the Bifrost, was given the task to locate the escapees.

The discussion between the two upset men had extended well into the day, then evening and finally into the night. Throughout the entire time they had not been disturbed, not even food or drinks had been brought. The Vanir would not have refused a pintof strong mead, but he had always known that in some cases Odin chose to think on a clear head. Even the wine that the King so favored was not present.

Sometime just before midnight a guard had informed them that the Guardian of the Rainbow Bridge could not locate the incorrectly wedded couple of younglings. Both elder males clearly believed it to be some sort of intricate trick by the escaped Heir. However the situation was not moot and the God of Wisdom had already devised a way to find the Godlings by the surroundings that would be in their current location. No, the Hlidskjalf would not be used, the Throne of Sight was not always obedient to Odin’s commands and even if it were, the Nobleman could not share the visions.

And so a trip would have to be made.

* * *

 

The Allfather led his old friend into the underground of Asgard. Their destination was a legend, shrouded by mystery and often passed off as a fairytale. Not many were aware of the existence of this place and even less knew of its exact location. He did not wish to disclose this important information. His secrets were his own and his position as the God of Wisdom allowed him the knowing of the threat that uncovering them posed. Even his wife was not aware what lied beneath the Golden City, he did not trouble her kind mind with this complexity. Perhaps Frigga did know, she was told to have the gift of foretelling. However he had never attempted to pressure her into confirming this, if she did have the great ability, he respected her whish of not saying anything about it. Maybe the Queen simply could not do it for one reason or the other. If it was the aforementioned case, still Odin did not hold this against her. She never warned or told him of the future. It was easier for the mighty Ruler to ignore the fated, it was best to forge destiny by himself rather than believe the opposite – that it was forging the course of events.

Njord did not question or pay attention to where they were going. He was occupied with different matters, all his concerns were with his grandchild. All he wanted was to get her back, what measures had to be taken to realize this were unimportant.

The two Gods arrived to the well called Urdarbrunnr – Urd’s Well. The Odinfather knew that just a bit further ahead she and the other Norns themselves resided. In his youth he had paid them a visit a few times, but it was never worth much, the women did not disclose enough and it always left him feeling great unease. The Fate Weavers, what they did – it was against his very nature to accept.

This underground was a realm all on its own, just like the famed Valhalla and Folkvangr. The sunless heaven above and the plains about were not carefully inlaid spells. He never cared to study or know how exactly this world inside of a world came to be. Those were trifle things and he was not one to be caught up in the details.

He was aware that the former King had already gathered in front of what potent magic object they stood. The Vanir said nothing and the Aesir did not share any explanations, both were interested in other matters. Anger united the men as did the care for those they took to be their children. Both Loki and Sigyn required saving, from one another and the second-born also from himself.

The moss covered rock Well was lidless and filled with water to the brim. The father of the Asgardian Princes splashed it with his hands and began murmuring requests or incantations – the guest did not know and did not care.

It was a language of ancient and it was truly and utterly dead, no experts could decipher it, be it in spoken form or written – none could use it. Even he, the all-powerful Allfather, only knew enough to control the few remaining relics of old.

A mist rose, roused by his calling, it enveloped the scenery and it also did not. The fog served as a screen as well as means to create the illusion of standing in the wanted area – which, depended on the wish of the Well. But it always switched from one to the other, never decisive in how to allow the asker to perceive the scene it held in its power to show. The difficulty of controlling it was best described as impossible, the Well always showed – but it was capricious in what exactly it showed.    

As the mist appeared the foreign God’s breath was audibly heard breaking. It was a myriad of emotions that he felt overtaking him (and he did not doubt that the same was with the other man too). It was relief that something worked and could allow him sight of his granddaughter, gratitude to the Ruler who brought him down here to share this vision and the many, many conflicted ones towards the two missing children.

First thing that appeared was darkness and for a moment it grasped the ‘realm’ in its overbearing clutches. Odin’s frown deepened, this was not how any place of Yggdrasill ever presented itself in the first counted seconds. ‘Son, what have you done?’ rung in his head. Soon enough the shapes began to form, close enough to give the impression that they could be touched and far enough to make one realize that it was just the things they saw in a cloud.    

_A place of ebony stone that played in glimmers of crystal light. Ashen haze clinging to the floor and a sharp-edged pool filled with black waters._

Neither recognized the location. If not for the two bodies of the ones that had escaped entering their combined visuals, the Aesir male would have ordered the Well to show more of the room and what was behind its walls. The vision shifted focusing closer and farther from one Godling then into the other, closing in on them and then retreating – it never ceased its changing of angles.

_The young Goddess swam leisurely, with her eyes closed and a content expression on her dainty face. The mist coiled about her form in nontransparent tendrils, focusing on the area of her chest. However to anyone who would have seen the picture, it would still be clear that she was nude in the dark water._

_The God of Mischief rested his arms on the edge of the pool, calmly observing his lover._

The boy was turned with his back to the watching ones. By the bareness of his back and shoulders it was safe to say that he too was in the same or a similar state of undress. Fury mounted inside the God of the Seas.

_Echoing, light laughter swirled about them both. They soaked for a long time, uncaring for a thing in the Universe. He tried catching her so slowly, playfully and she always managed to escape with the twinkle of her mirth stroking his ears._

_Despite their nudity the mood was innocent and relaxing. The Heir was glad that something that should not change a thing – but usually did, had not touched them. He wished with all his might that it would turn into a constant for them – that neither marriage nor any other happening would ever sway them out of their blissful view of one another. He was sure, as sure as one without any actual knowledge could be, that the woman wanted the same. The way they interacted was perfect, unhindered by any standard or norm and even expectation. It was pure, it was what they both needed. No copying of sung-about courting and marriage with all the baggage those carried could be better than this. It was them and there were no masks to be incorporated in the company of one another._

Patience was what both of the observing Rulers had. The vision did not shift to show anything, which could have valid information on where what they were seeing was transpiring. All that was left was to watch and wait.

An hour or more had already passed by, but they would stand unyielding and wait for whatever that had to unfold. However displeasure escalated continuously in the elder Gods, but it was far more viscous on Njord’s side. Nothing was vocally exchanged between them, they had no questions or observations to share with one another.

_The God of Trickery loved and hated the ashen smoke that was so keen on curling about the Lady. It created an intrigue and it was beautiful, but at the same time it obscured his view of her. He suspected that it was not her doing, for the swirls had caressed them both when they were still clothed. The mist had also touched him when he had rested at the corner of the pool, trying to imitate an armband around his upper-arm. He believed that the swirls had a will of their own._

_The pool was shallow and deep in some places. The depth was leveled by gradual deepening as well as stairs disappearing beneath the liquid. By some of the edges there were small ledges, spacious enough to allow one to stand._

_The God contemplated that perhaps this place was similar to the Golden Palace and it could change to accommodate one’s needs. Maybe if the occupants so required this bathing area could lose its depth and be replaced by a smaller pool, where it would be possible to sit. The idea was born from the way this room had changed or appeared to do so, for this man-made hole seemed to have expanded at some point._

_When he’d tired of the chase there was a curt pause when he took a break. During it he inspected the waters, there was no scent of salt – so he reckoned that it was nothing like seawater. Scooping a handful into his palm he saw that it was indeed black, so the coloring was not influenced by the dark material the walls and bottom were made of. The water was luminescent and semitransparent. The God of Deceit soon tired of studying it, for there was something much more distracting present. The game began anew._

_After a while he cornered her, the melody of her laughter was divine. He pressed his lips to hers tenderly and the contact was void of any hidden intentions._

_The two could have expected this to happen, it should have been a certain possibility, but neither had. The desire raked through them at the same time, resonating wonderfully and giving the knowledge of its singularity in both individuals. Perhaps the kiss had ignited it or perhaps not, and truly such insight was not important._

_The female Vanir united their lips again with ardent fire underneath the action. Her fingers tangled in his hair but did not pull on it. He reciprocated to the kiss. Before long both were aware, without words said, were this path required to be turned._

_The male found his footing on the underwater ledge. He uplifted the girl by the waist and laid her down on the cold marble floor. The fog followed her form, disallowing sight of her naked figure. He pushed her further away from the edge of the pool and her wet skin did not cling or make sound as it slid._

_The Godling placed his knee on the ground while his other leg slightly dangled in the air above the water. He felt the cool, cloud-like substance envelope his physique in elegant twirls, like feathers it constantly hovered along his pale skin._

_His aristocratic, lithe hand trailed down one of her breasts, she arched in response. The Prince moved closer and molded his body with hers, Sigyn’s flesh was so warm and soft underneath him. They kissed for quite some time, both ignoring its passing. He ceased only when his insides were caught in inextinguishable wildfires. Pulling away he retreated into the pool and submerged himself underneath the liquid it was filled with. It was a vain attempt to lower the heat that roared under his skin._

_He resurfaced reveling at the cool sensation, although it did nothing to quell the fires within. He moved his black wet locks from his face, smoothing the hair back. The God of Lies found a protrusion from the wall of the pool and quickly found a purpose for its appearance. The new ledge had not been there before and he did not think much about how it came to be._

_Loki placed his knees atop the newly formed ledge. Waist down he was beneath the black waters, it was a soothing sensation. He dragged the Goddess’s body closer and met no resistance at the action. Bending down he pressed tickling kisses to her feet, she giggled and he smirked. When he straightened his hands began caressing the young woman’s thighs. The coiling mist did not hinder his touch and moved away as he explored. Alas when the flesh was left alone it came back to claim territory with renewed vengeance._

_Her long legs were lightly pressed together and he thought that it would not do. His breath ghosted above a dangerous area and he half-expected a glare to be thrown his way. The Lie God placed a kiss to the apex of her thighs. She was quick to understand his intention and a whimper of complaint escaped her. The man couldn’t really grasp why she opposed this so much. It was clear that she found something ideologically wrong whenever his lips or tongue worshipped her so intimately. Oh, but he loved doing it. There was something exhilarating about seeing her squirm in mental discomfort and physical pleasure. He knew that he would often indulge in showering her with his violent love._

_He pulled the gifted lips away and used his hands on each side of her beautiful physique to keep himself balanced. His arm extended and his index finger was brought to her lips, he wanted to silence any vocal opposing. The finger travelled down her form slowly._

_The Trickster God continued caressing the female. In counted moments, on their own volition, her legs spread just a little bit. He had expected her body to give in, although she shifted slightly – obviously still conflicted. He would convince her to surrender completely._

_The God of Deceit pushed those gorgeous legs apart himself. He spent a couple of minutes simply marveling at her pale and utterly nude body. Thus was not done in their previous encounters, he had not seen her like this – all of her in such a vulnerable state. There was another dismayed sound and he wanted to shush and reassure her, alas calming words were not whispered._

_The Heir dove down and shoved his elongated tongue into the Vanir’s core. Something inside had told him that preparation-meant licks were not necessary, she was quite ready. At the rough penetration her back snapped upwards, arching instantly. Simultaneously to her physical response there was a small complaint that her vocal cords formed. Hoping that this would bring pleasure without delay – was futile, the Lady’s physique was always so resistant. However the previous contact had steered her mind into the right direction and she was much more accepting that the first time in Vanaheim, when he’d forced his wet appendage inside of her._

_The pace he’d set was quick, faster than any he’d bestowed upon her before. Soon the girl was trashing about in slow movements, mewling and bucking softly into his ravenous mouth. Mentally the Prince was all in devious grins._

The former King was enraged and felt helpless, forced only to watch this distasteful display. From when the boy-prince had removed his sweet, little granddaughter out of the pool, his hands had clenched into shaking fists. The bones within letting out cracking sounds from the sheer pressure. While Odin was much more composed, standing with a frightening frown over his noble features, Njord believed that he felt the same. Surely, he wanted to bring back his son before he had managed to disgrace their family even more.  

The elder Vanir was fuming, oh that brat had the gall to pull this kind of stunt! He did not even want to know how humiliated his King now felt. A childe that tarnished your very name by pulling a prank in front of the whole court and nobility, and then simply choosing to _fuck_ his temporary little conquest – the victim of his one big _joke_. Truly, the positions both of the Rulers found themselves in – were not enviable.

Although the God of Seas had no delusions when he gazed into the scene unfolding at this very moment. He did not misinterpret the willingness Sigyn showed. Foolish, foolish child! However surprise did not strike him – this was Freya’s daughter after all. When the mother-tree was rotten, more often than not, it bore damaged fruit. And through all the anger the High God felt – he still managed to find the hope in himself to hope that this twisted, leech of a Prince would not shatter his grandchild, like once his girl had been by Ódr.

_He receded back into the water, content with watching her as she tried to regain control over her physical self._

_The woman was still lost in the clouds and his attention had retracted from the sole purpose of pleasuring her. Instantly he was stricken with a realization, were the circumstances any different – he would have wholeheartedly laughed. What a distraction she proved to be! He was sure that no one in this Universe could steal his self-awareness like this. The young God had missed his own arousal. And it hit him forcefully, the hardness was unbearable. It was simply impossible to overlook, but he had and it made itself obvious to him only now. However this was not the first time she had reduced him to this – when coherency was absent until it reappeared and then it was not possible to withhold himself. Could she make him ignore pain as well – the thought swarmed his mind. Of course she could and the Vanir Goddess had. During their first union her sharp nails had wounded him exquisitely and he perceived the deep scratches only the morning after. Now they only stood as almost healed, reddish markings, but for an Aesir to not heal for such a long time – it was unheard of. Yet he wanted the brands to stay and did nothing to make them go away._

_The panting Godling could not idle any longer, he_ needed _to join them together. Not only did his physique weep for it but also his heart, mind and soul did. He crawled out of the pool and the shadowy mist curled about his form, it felt rather pleasant as it surrounded him in ribbons. The Lady’s eyes met his, they were grey and loving, speaking tomes to him. He nearly whined at the strain the gaze was putting him under, he wanted to do so. many. things. to her. Although for all the thoughts lost, his subconscious was still activate and kept him at bay._

_The male moved her body again further away. It was funny how many times he had manipulated her position, and at least that she did not oppose. And he’d believed that she would not approve of being treated like a porcelain doll or a puppet with her strings severed._

_The female had returned, well, as much as it was possible for her to return after all the ecstasy he’d pushed her through. Her eyes were not the only testament that alerted him of this but also the response to the wolfish way he stared at her._

_The smoke had them both in their grasp, however the center of her bent at knee-point legs was not obscured to his view. She tried to change her sprawled position but nothing listened to her for a while. He was aware of her blush and took it as a sign of her discomfort at her nudity being observed from such an intimate angle. Nearly tsk-ing at her adorable yet silly notion he set to loom above her._

_The wanton desire to simply_ fuck _the Goddess hard into the floor was difficult to deny. His hold came to caress one of her thighs and the disobedient, now clenched legs fell apart once more. How much of that was in agreement of all the parts that made her who she was, in this state, was too much to contemplate. Without a second’s delay he settled in the place he was_ meant _to occupy. Her breath hitched at the contact._

_With desperation that his carefully controlled actions did not represent – his hands, lips and tongue softly violated her physique. And Sigyn allowed him to do as he pleased. His hands, then maw was on her breasts, switching mounds in cold-saliva trails, while her lips traced everywhere they could reach and her fingernails travelled by the dip of his spine._

_The Lie God did not know how long he had adored her flesh with these touches, but the burning need was too much. So close, so close and pressed to her delicious core. His patience snapped, one hand slipped to her abdomen and the God of Magic enforced a spell to cut of the bearing of_ fruit _. Then it swiftly made way beneath her plump derrière and he maneuvered his lover._

_The thoughts of the belief that she was still far too abused by their first love-making just three days ago (or was it four, he’d lost count) had nothing but vanished from his head. He thrust himself into her, they gasped simultaneously. It was slow but rougher then he’d ever treated her. So completely buried inside, he could feel the pleasure and a tiny bit of pained discomfort at the forceful expansion that she resonated._

_The God of Deceit was perhaps somewhat glad (it was too hard to sort out any mixed thoughts when he could only feel what they both felt at the present) that the girl’s, who was beneath him, nails were long but square-shaped. The pressure she now applied to his shoulders did not make her claws sink as deep as they had before. Although throughout this intense coupling her fingernails had reopened the wounds she’d made prior, as well as created new ones._

_The Loki did not still for a moment and he set a rhythm without wait. If not for the blind passion he would not have rushed like this, although he was aware of what she experienced and was bent on creating just singular pleasure. His strokes were slow but deep and forceful. With each movement of him inside of her, the young woman arched and let out quiet sounds. Both were vaguely suspecting of the shackles of fog curling about their joined bodies._

The grandfather of the girl-woman who was being taken could not watch any longer, he hid his face in the palm of his hand. He tried to steady his breathing. The father of the boy-man, however was not as swayed by the visage the Well showed him. Something caught his lone eye and he had to make sure. His companion was uncaring and refused to observe at the moment.

The King of Asgard with a scowl on his royal physiognomy asked a question and splashed the murky waters that filled Urdarbrunnr. The liquid did not dye itself in blood, neither watered down nor thick and near congealing – no tint of crimson in it at all. He bit back a sigh, truly perhaps he had been expecting too much... This was the Love Goddess’s daughter after all. Of course there were no tears or agonized screams, and of course there was no color to signify virgin blood. The child had long since let a man break her maidenhead.

No matter how the former Ruler of Vanaheim would oppose, the Odinfather could not find it in his cold rationality to solely blame his son for all of this. Yes, there would be a punishment as it was fitting, but there would be other things his young would have to face some time later. Loki was a great deal of things, but he was indeed easily shattered. The second-born possibly had many, many lovers throughout his years, but Odin had a feeling that the daughter of Freya would take the lot. If the dark-haired Prince held ties to something, the bond would be unexplainably close to his heart. He had initiated this fall from grace for his whole family, but his young and tender heart would surely suffer when the girl _will_ decide to move on to another lover. The Throne Heir could manipulate well, but his predecessor knew that he could never deal with it when the tables were turned. The God of Wisdom pitied his poor childe – because of his own unacceptable and foolish actions he would come in harm’s way, and not the kind that could be mended in the healing rooms.

With an air of resolve the elder Vanir willed to move his gaze back to the vision. This was what both of the men had wanted to stop and miserably failed. He noticed the Allfather muttering incantations in a strange tongue he had never heard before. The God understood what the other was trying to do and obviously was unable to – for the image exposed to their observing gazes was not shifting into anything outside of the damn dark room. There was no way to find the lost children and it only made Njord’s fury grow.

* * *

 

_Hours later the two lovers were spent. The God of Mischief breathed just as heavily as the Goddess beneath him. He remained where he was, already lax but still within her core. His weight should have been crushing to her, but Sigyn just played with his dark locks and gave nothing that would signal being burdened._

_They were satisfied beyond anyone’s wildest imagination. He grinned tiredly, this was a great start to their honeymoon... and who cared for mead anyway?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Odin's favorite beverage being wine, I've actually chosen it because that's the only thing he drinks. In the myths Odin does not eat, only drinks wine (or in some versions mead).
> 
> Hlidskjalf – is Odin's throne (sometimes referred to as a location) that allows him sight of all the Nine Realms.
> 
> Urdarbrunnr – Urd's well, is a well (sometimes referred to as a water-body) of one of the Norns – Urd. I will further explain the Norns in my later chapters where they will be mentioned again.
> 
> If you have forgotten who Ódr is, then you can look him up at the notes after the sixth chapter (Conversation. Part II).


	16. Punishment. Part I

**Chapter sixteen**

**_Punishment._ ** **Part I**

Thirty days (or more) had passed in Realm Eternal. It was time for the escaped Prince to return.

The time spent by the ‘newlyweds’ had been marvelous. The Unnamed world proved to be a pleasant place and both Loki and Sigyn had not been bored out of their minds. Sustenance had been aplenty (he had ceased questioning its strange appearance) and none of the realm Guardians had graced them with their presence.

The young God had not taken this ‘vacation’ as a honeymoon, perhaps his bride did not as well. So their activities had not resembled how wedded ones spent time after their freshly-baked marriage. The Godlings were not constantly in bed (it was just a phrase – for there were no actual mattresses present in the barren land) as they should have by tradition. Except for the love-making that took place after their arrival, there were no more bodily unions – and to both younglings it was so much more than that. However despite the magnitude such joining represented there was no need to indulge wantonly. In the male’s understanding if they would have, it would have seemed so desperate as though it was the end for them. However it was not so, it was merely the beginning of what was to lie ahead. Maybe it was a childish choice, very juvenile the way their attentions could be stolen by trifle wonders of an unexplored world – so open to their wish to study it. And maybe it was a mature choice, when time was in abundance and they were wise enough to not abuse something so new. Neither party had experienced uncontrollable need to lovingly violate one another with every given chance. No words had to be shared, both were aware that it was something more than love that bound them and most certainly it was not mindless lust. The few times they had abused each other were special and every time it struck them as an epiphany, without it there was no need for coupling. Pleasurable it would have been – but a far cry from what they experienced. When one tasted something divine, the food of peasants no longer held any appeal, and they were spoiled to no end by each other.

The God of Mischief did not expect the Goddess to oppose his necessary leave. No matter how lengthy the separation, it was not for dead. She understood that perfectly and while missing him was an obvious thing that she would feel, there was no unwarranted clinginess or mournful resignation.

The Vanir had not believed that they would stay together forever and never turn different paths. Her lover was the Heir of Asgard’s Throne, she knew that he would have to return where he _belonged_. Although something rubbed her subconscious the wrong way and it was utterly certain that there was something amiss in that constant.

She did not resent him for this choice and she did not want him to deny himself the need to be back. If he would follow her (and the woman was aware that he could never fall behind her like that completely) then sooner or later he would come to resent her, if not her – then his situation. The God of Deceit was a _must_ to her, but she did not need him with her without reprieve, there was no worry on her side because he was already neatly tucked away in her pocket. And if anything, her pockets were escape-proof. Her life was Yggdrasill walking, perhaps in time she would wish to settle down for longer periods of time, to belong more firmly in some place. But for now there was absolutely no desire to clip her own wings, even if by a tiny bit. Returning with her ‘husband’ was not an option, he was not daft and he had not suggested such. The Golden world with all its golden shimmer held no appeal to her and what awaited her there was even more repulsive.

The envy-green God should have fussed, frowned and refused to function without the Lady by his side. What unsettled him was the fact that he did not feel that way. Releasing a bird that was not tame into the wild and hoping for its return was foolishness. Somehow his psyche detected no mistake in the making. Why was he so sure of this? Love – was it? Well, even it could not dim his genius so.

Therefore it was something far deeper and not in the emotional sense, no, there was an actual _connection_. This tie simply held that and it seemed to him that he was slightly aware of her being. It was not the strong pattern of energy that the girl emanated (as everyone else did), he had been well aware of it even before, he was titled as a Master Magician for a reason. This ribbon was peculiar because he had never experienced such roping with anyone else, no matter how deeply he loved them, he was no Heimdall – he could not perceive everyone he cared for from afar. And so the Lie God came to the revelation that this was a very Vanir sentiment, something so primal and ancient, shapeless, formless. No magic he’d ever learned was like this and he had heard like in a myth of the tribe-like, ‘barbaric’ rituals of Vanaheim – it was clear that what most passed off as blatant folktales, was truly very real. If not for his knowledge of energies (and the spiritual in a sense), then this barely detectable, mind-edge lingering feeling would not be registered or treated for what it really was.

But that was that, he could feel her existence and whether she was well, it should not have been enough to quell his always storming in thought-processes mind. They were immortals and the deathless ones would spend eons upon eons courting and nurturing their emotions, yet they caught the inextinguishable flame in mere months. Months compared to ages! And yet he was perfectly calm. When there was the fact of how was he to know that he would not be discarded for a ‘better’ (the idea was teeth-grinding worthy) he knew that indeed there were those who could fill his position in her existence better than he could. However he was the God of Lies for a reason and for self-preservation he could freely deceive himself, simply deny something if the stakes of holding onto it were too high. Where acidic jealousy should have reared its ugly head, there was only contentment and an odd assuredness.

She had tasted the sweet that a man could give her as he did taste that which a woman could. Normally he would have assumed that instinct-driven creatures would seek to repeat that by any means necessary, but that was not the case. They were both similar in that equation, they never settled for a compromise. The Dark Prince was sinisterly pleased that no one would ever compare with what they had and it was not just good _fucking_. It stroked his pride to know that he was the only one she would ever need. He suspected that if there was any need of each other, especially the unbearable physical kind, then he would feel it simultaneously with her, no matter the distance. And who would ever try to put out a wildfire with a cup of water? He doubted the possibility of this intense burning occurring so out of nowhere, what they had exchanged did not alter either’s lack of interest in animalistic mating. The very thought of having some whore on him was sickening. No one else would suffice, ever...

Their farewell was not even bittersweet, it had the mood of _‘see you later’_. He knew that she could not come with him, there was nothing left for her in his homeland (except for Syn). The Godling told his love that he would find her when he would be able to slip away unnoticed. She said that if she would hide away too well, then he should listen in on the talks that always found him (the gossip that Heimdall was aware of but did not care for). Her tone was mockingly playful when she used the words he had when describing how he had come to the knowledge of the conversation she had shared the day of her disappearance with her baby-sister, saying that the _wind_ would _carry_ to him her whereabouts. The female would use her travelling name – Angrboda, it would be his way of locating her. The boy-prince nodded his agreement, even if someone were to find out about him meeting a woman with such a name, it would not be of any consequence. Some would approve, others wouldn’t – but they could also summarize and live on the belief that the sullied, prank-marriage held no appeal to the Trickster anymore.

Despite the fact that he felt the Vanir girl and she did feel him as well, somewhere on the edge of the consciousness, this power was no map to uncover actual coordinates. However he was confident that he could find her one way or another. There was nothing in this Universe that could stop him – absolutely nothing, it was nihil to even attempt such a feat of getting in his path.

The young man thought that she would linger in the Unnamed Realms for a while, until it would lose its appeal to her. Then the Lady would move to someplace else. Most possibly it would be Vanaheim (she did like it so) or Svartalfheim to visit her father, maybe Niflheim – those were the safest worlds for her to be. Although searching all three and upturning every rock and inspecting every crevice would take far too much time, so he’d have his ears perked up to hear anything about her. She would be missing like her mother, but only from those who were unaware of her sneaky ways and alias.

The parting kiss was light and short, akin to one given at dawn and hinting at a meeting when dusk would fall. No one could possibly comprehend their lack of worry in this situation, the only thing that had had that element were Sigyn’s words uttered a week or so ago, concerning what repercussions would greet him upon his arrival to Asgard. But he’d waved it off like it was nothing, although it only served as means of getting that topic into the very background of her thought process. It could take _years_ before they’d see one another again, yet as to true, mature immortals (and they weren’t such, not really; just youngs of great Gods, well in her case – a Goddess and a province King) it was trifle – this separation. The male believed that if they would be together without air to breathe it would drive him insane. While this sort of madness was not against him, he was still the Prince of Realm Eternal and he had his duties, unwinded as he was with them, but not enough to ignore them completely.

No more words were wasted and no sickeningly sweet cooing about love happened. The two turned their backs to each other and strode away to where they had to or wanted to be. Neither one turned back to see the other go. There was no need, the strings of fate or whatever they were, connected them so that they could never actually leave. Be apart in the physical sense – yes, but not away from one another in soul.            

* * *

 

Throughout Loki’s journey his jaw was clenched, he was resigned to the fate that awaited him. Leaving the Unnamed Realms was of no actual difficulty as if something allowed him to exit, maybe even guided him. So he simply _walked_ to Svartalfheim, the near-root place of the Ash Tree. From there on he used the ancient portal, the same one he had used to transport the Rock Trolls to Asgard.

When he emerged he was lightly cloaked from the Gatekeeper’s eyes. Not the concealment he used to blind the God utterly, just be hidden enough to let Heimdall know that he was somewhere in Realm Eternal. The God of Magic knew that his father’s rage would still be burning furiously, but he doubted that the Guardian of the Rainbow Bridge would be involved. In case he was wrong, he needed to incorporate slight hiding. While the situation should have played against him, it did not. Thus was because everyone (his predecessor included) believed the power of the Master Magician to be harmless, perhaps even unworthy of taking into account. The sentence opposed itself. How _bright_ of them – he snorted in sarcasm.

The guards of the fortress let him pass without any resistance, what was their opinion of him mattered not because they were taught into utter submission to their King. And given their orders they rarely, if ever, meddled with the God of Trickery. It was precisely for that reason – harmless or not, his silver tongue was indeed considered to be potent. Words were his forte, so those who had that nailed into their brains firmer – tried to avoid speaking with the Lie God at all costs.

It was clear that the commotion he’d caused had watered down, without trying he found out that there had been no search parties sent out to find the two that came to be wed by trick. And why would it be done – when both had been gone from sight and drown in invisibility to all. It was probably the summary, which most clever individuals came to – that the Trickster God simply ferried the bride away into some dark crevice, one that no all-seeing eyes could observe.

The Golden Palace had the air of tranquility it always did when celebrations and feasts were not even close on the horizon. The returned escapee was not caught by anyone, he walked freely through the castle. The Allfather surely knew of his son’s return, as well as he knew that the guilty one would come to him without being chained in the figurative sense. The leash the Odinfather had on both of his Heirs was not a physical one, he had simply engraved a module of what had to be done in both of his younglings’ heads. Although it worked without fail in some patterns, no teachings or reprimands ever managed to keep the brothers completely without rebellious will.      

The father waited for the capricious boy that had shamed him so, to appear on his own. The grand doors of the Odin’s main hall opened without the aid of the guards stationed for the sake of security, as well as functioning as door openers. If any of them were new, then they were definitely surprised by the Godling who did not move a finger to make an entrance.

His stride was confident (lies! but did he not god-over them?), fluid and languid – in short, everything was an attempt to conceal what he felt inside. What kind of situation it was, was never of any importance to him – for he always did seek to claim it with grace.

The Ruler’s lone eye observed the returned child with an ever-present expression of discontent. As always he was above, sitting in his Throne (not the Hlidskjalf that seat was not present in any area accessible to the court, servants or commoners), no surprise there – he liked staring down anyone that stood before him, from high.

The God of Mischief swept into an elegant bow to his King, not the greeting of warriors – clenched fist to chest. He was not one, so then why bother imitating the very reason the great God was disappointed in his successor? The young male always moved like this and mostly such gestures were considered to be fake in their honesty (and truth be told, more often than not, they were mock-pleasantries). Keeping silent he waited to be acknowledged.  

“Loki” after a pregnant pause he added “You have returned”

The God of Lies knew this mask well. The façade of calm and collectiveness, it did nothing to mislead him to believe that the High God was no longer enraged with him.

“Yes, I have” uttering the unnecessary phrase he attempted to appear as his usual self, he was not aware if he succeeded to pull off this tremendous feat tough. However he did hope that his tone had not wavered.

The God of Wisdom rose from his seat and brought Gungnir down. The echoing clang in the grand acoustics of the chamber did make him flinch in fright, it was barely hidden – his momentarily lost composure.

The elder man said in his booming voice.

“Come” he turned without sparing another glance his son’s way. The imposing air, with which he walked around the Throne and made way to venture to one of the back-rooms, was not a reason to unwind for the pesky prankster.

He followed without a word of complaint. The feeling of impending doom was heavy in his very bones, it intensified with the knowledge that there was a need for a different chamber to converse in. There was no certainty concerning the reason why the Leader of the Aesir never let these sorts of things transpire in the Golden Hall. Perhaps he did not want to ‘taint’ this place with his anger, for there really were no spying eyes or ears to gather it in this vicinity. Either way, the boy-prince was aware that it would not bode well for him.

Not many knew the Asgardian palace like the back of their hand, it was probably more correct to claim that just the current King knew all of its secrets. Maybe even he did not know everything, this castle was not built by his commissioning or in his time. The chambers that were directly behind the dais (and it was not the side corridors on both sides that he meant) were like a backstage of a theater. The spectators could see what happened on the scene but never further beyond it. And that was frightening because just like in every dome of play, there was that dark space that lurked over the curtains, it was filled with vile things, which did not show in the pretty picture. The Prince had long since realized that this royal bloodline was secrets upon secrets that layered and piled atop one another. Despite his vast liking of secrets, he did not feel the same when they were in his family.

The hidden passageway led into a chamber much similar to the Throne room, just smaller in its size. The _other_ council meetings were held in this particular one, just this time the round table and chairs, and all things necessary for such a place – were absent. The empty, swept-clear of most of its furniture area did nothing to quell the state of the royal Heir.

Fully armored – as nearly on all occasions, the form of Odin did not stop. He proceeded towards the back of the room, while the young man slowly approached the center of it. The distance between them had not been close at any moment today. Physical closeness would hint at nothing, possibly it could even be misinterpreted by the great God as lack of proper respect or childish clinginess of a guilty pup. The youngest child was nothing like the eldest in the father’s mind – and the aforementioned knew it. Therefore he could not allow himself to show such familiarity, especially when it would land him into trouble faster than it would get him out of it.

There was another uplifted area and the King climbed the stairs in his regal stride. The Lie God summarized it to be an unconscious or conscious display of power. No matter with whom the Ruler dealt with, as befit of one of his status, he always looked down upon them. He did not do so in a condescending fashion however. In all actuality conversing with the Allfather when standing on the same ground did not make him lose his commanding presence. Although he was shorter than the young God – the difference changed nothing. There was no need for this physical elevation, but it strengthened the factor of imposing. Which was maybe what he was aiming for, the older man was difficult to decipher.    

There was only one seat, the one on the small-version of a grand dais. The Odinfather rested upon the shrunken version of the Golden Throne. The God of Deceit simply idled, completely encompassed by dreadful anxiousness.

“Do you realize the severity of your actions?”

Whether he would deny or confirm it, he was well aware that the question was a deathtrap. So the standing young God opted to stay in character. There was no possible way to weasel out of this situation. He was being dragged down deeper in his mess. There was no point in even attempting, it would do nothing when against such an immovable man.    

“Oh, it was all in good game, father--”

At that the elder Aesir’s patience snapped. He did not let him finish and whatever the younger male planned to say died in his throat and was lost in memory because of the outburst.

“Enough of your games, Loki!” the range of voice was billowing and he nearly cringed. He could not interject for the shouted words did not end “Do you have any idea of what you have done?! You have sullied the sacred bonds of marriage with your juvenile pranking! You disgraced your family with this unacceptable and unforgivable behavior!”

The urge to look down to the floor and shuffle his feet was too strong to ignore.

“Whatever foolishness has led you to do this?!”

Before this heated eruption of questions could tread into dangerous waters the boy began pleading his case. His eyes rose to make contact with the King’s.

“I had known that the threat to our realm has been taken care off!” he said hurriedly with the most innocent gaze in his orbs that he could muster. “The warriors had been delayed in their return so I took the groom’s place. Why waste such a good marriage only because--”

“Silence!” the staff of power hit the ground again. The son silenced immediately. The predecessor was tired of what he assumed to be lies or twisted truths “I will hear none of your mischievous words! Do not lie to me! I know that it was you, who had impersonated the Crimson Hawk and came before me to deceive me, your father! How dare you do this?!”

The silver tongued man feigned the notion of being taken aback. It was to his gain that this interrogation had started on the safe side and none of the possible hazardous inquiries were made. Although he did not hope that the danger zone would not be breached. In this case, hope was truly the mother of fools and Loki was not one, even if many labeled him as such.

“They did not return so I simply used the opportunity. It was only an arranged betrothal, I am sure that the man can find another bride. He is one of your elite soldiers, father”

“Insolent child! Your actions have ruined a marriage I myself approved! You shamed not only the house of Odin, in front of the whole court, but you have also tarnished the trust between I and Lord Njord! You stood before me and lied without shame!”

“Yes, I have, but I meant no disrespect!” all of the responses were frantic because it was crucial to the scheme, however he was genuinely pressed into it by the Allfather.

“And yet you have done something that is further beyond that of mere disrespect!” like a great dragon his nostrils flared in heavy exhales, he was trying to level himself. “They have not returned”

“What?” it was the perfect fakery of honest confusion.

“The group sent to stop the threat has not returned”

“What do you mean they have not returned?” the God of Lies furrowed his brow and lightly crossed his arms to add more convincing flair to his deceit.

“Do not play with me! It is what it sounds like!” the calmness had dissipated in a blink of an eye and the vocal raging returned. Few moments later the Asgardian Leader gathered his slipping composure “What is your association with this occurrence? Do not lie to me, Loki!” the last sentence was slightly higher, but much less than the high-tide of the Odinfather’s anger.

“I had nothing to do with this! I do not know what happened, what you have told me is news to me, father! I do not understand it, at all! I care for our realm deeply and the happenings concerning an upcoming invasion had reached me. Naturally I was interested, lest I would be required to help stop it. When I scryed the borders I had seen nothing out of the ordinary. I had assumed it to be taken care of. Then there was the delay and I simply grasped the chance when I saw it”

The God of Wisdom was aware that the trick-minded childe of his had a meager ability to scry, therefore nothing that could frame him had been uncovered. It was quite the convincing story, nothing in it conflicted with the prankster God’s image. And the powerful Ruler detected no outward lie in Loki’s explanation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that Loki's reaction to Odin may have seemed as very unlikely – the Godling's fear of the Allfather. Here the envy-green god is still not the villain, he is young and to him his father is both an imposing and a respective figure. I did not want to make Loki completely indifferent and unfazed by anything. He is not immune to whatever repercussions that can befall him and here he is not hardened by the events that took place in the movies. If brought to light his actions have the capacity to ruin his life – he fears that. Tricking the mightiest of Gods (also someone who he is not apathetic to) – he is aware of how dangerous and difficult that is. Now the Odinfather knows that Loki had deceived him. Letting a fraction of the grand scheme be uncovered was necessary to fool Odin. But the son is still painfully aware that there is a cost for his actions, he is willing to pay it, but that does not mean that he has to like it (or have no emotions towards it).


	17. Punishment. Part II

**Chapter seventeen**

**_Punishment._ ** **Part II**

 

 

Odin questioned the Throne Heir for the details and he spilled them, leaving no room for doubt. Not once had the fiery rage seeped through into the old God’s very visage, contorting his face and making his words knife-sharp. The Prince throughout the whole ordeal wished to shove his hand into his pocket, where Sigyn’s black garter with a large green gem was carefully tucked away, he wanted to caress it and let it coil about his fingers – to attain some sort of strange reassurance.

“That is irrelevant--” the Allfather roared.

Loki did not let him finish. His all but blunt rudeness reared its ugly head. All proper titles forgotten and respect discarded, he matched the volume with equal venom.

“Njord should be glad! What greater honor is there than being part of the house of Odin!” the boy-prince did not phrase his shout as a question. Both of the Throne Heirs dared to oppose from time to time, and they could easily incorporate their father’s character into themselves, even if it was against the very man.

“You had taken his granddaughter’s hand by lies and deceit! That is UNACCEPTIBLE!” the High God roared in overpowering rage, which should have been frightening but it was not.

It was a stalemate, the boy was not listening to the Odinfather’s words. There was nothing that he could ask of the child that would hold a different answer. He breathed heavily, trying to broach a different side of the matter. There were still things left unsolved – matters unattended, he would not leave them be.

“Where is the girl? I wish to speak to her myself”

Well shit – the Godling’s mind halted. He knew that this was coming and he had beforehand abandoned all hope to avoid this certain aspect. Appearing to be calm with a tint of apprehensiveness, he replied.

“I do not know...” the flooring seemed to be interesting at that very moment and so it was the sole owner of his attention.

“What?” the God of Wisdom asked as if he had not heard.

The young God repeated and elaborated further.

“I do not know. We had separated and I do not know where she left to” his shoulders were hunched, displaying something akin to a minor version of shame. It was not doubted, he was a great actor, a great deceiver. And in all reality it was not wholly a lie, he had the idea that his lover was still there where their paths had turned different sides, but there was no way to be sure. All he knew was that she _was_ and that she was alright, there was nothing more to his newfound ability to _feel_ her. In any other situation he would have snorted or chuckled at this – he was beginning to sound like the Lady. His Goddess had that strange ability that should have only belonged to a Vanir, yet now he had a certain grasp on it as well. That should not have been possible, but being who he was, he no longer questioned things that really had no label or place on the neat shelves within his mentality. He was aware that like everything, given enough time (and that’s what immortals had in abundance), he could master it in some way and be more aware of her location in the realms of Yggdrasill.

A few minutes were required until the elder God understood what the second-born Prince meant. He groaned audibly, mournfully even – it was an occurrence once in a millennia. The boy waited with a slight hint of intrigue, what had his predecessor pieced from his perfectly crafted mistruth?

Reality was cruel, crueler than what he would _have_ to do to his son. Of course this was how things would unravel! It was one of the Love Goddess’s offspring, there were no other possibilities here.

It all added up well, his worst fears were confirmed. If his youngling’s outburst was anything to go by, along with what he had seen through the power of Urdarbrunnr, this was not a onetime affair to the childe. Like Freya’s tears that were said to be of gold, everything she touched also turned to ‘gold’. Therefore, it was no wonder at how beautiful her daughters were. The dark-haired one was no exception. What were men if not fools, smitten so easily by pretty maidens? For all the intelligence and all the cunning the boy-prince prided himself in, now it was obvious to the King of Asgard that even the Lie God would trip for a ‘skirt’. It was just too much to expect for him to be any different. In his mind’s eye, he had envisioned it to be the passionate Thor, the center of any ball, to fall into a thunderous heartbreak, like the one that awaited Loki.

“Son, what were you expecting?” all anger momentarily forgotten, his tone was saddened “Be it any other maiden – but it is the daughter of Freya. Like her mother she is most possibly already carried by all four winds and searching for her is futile. You believe yourself to be always the one in control but you are not immune to being tricked. I understand that the arranged marriage was not to her liking and so she walked with you, knowing that she could _escape_ you. I know you and I know the suffering that burdens you whenever you fall short of anything” he sighed.

To the God of Lies this was a rather good turn of events and it was easy to play guilty with a dying ember of stubbornness – childish arrogance. Although something, something seemed terribly off with the direction this talk was headed.

“Did you actually believe that this trick would go unnoticed, unpunished? Did you expect that I would annul the sacred vows?”

Having this union canceled-out was not in the plans of the God of Deceit, not at all. But in truth, it was only a formality, an Asgardian formality at that and he was tied to someone that was most definitely not Aesir. If the Ruler would have severed it anyway, it would not have mattered. He had the young woman since the time she had agreed to the contract he’d offered, they were as good as married from that point on. In all actuality it was against the law to annul any marriage and the God of Mischief recalled nothing of such happening in his time or in the history that he’d studied (and such an uproar would have been depicted somewhere). Alas the Allfather was the King and he had all the right to rewrite ancient law. Although he shouldn’t have by Asgard’s essence of kingship, but when it concerned Odin, thus would always be overlooked (no one was there to remember or care for what was before the current Leader’s coming to power).

“What if I do not want it to be annulled?!” he hissed like a snake, pretending to be scraping the dregs of his pride from the bottom of the barrel.

The exclamation pushed the Odinfather into another one of those fits and oh, they did sow and reap fear from everyone like the most blessed and fastest-growing of crops.

“You foolish boy! Do you not understand what you have gotten yourself into?! You thought that you had used a chance to steal another man’s pretty bride, but she is the one who _used_ you and left you as the scapegoat. By no means was the girl a virgin maiden, whom you won over with a cheap trick”

The younger Heir was confused by the last comment and his father’s certainty displayed in it. However he bit back any opposition and continued listening.

“Perhaps she will allow you to bed her again but in the meantime – she will take up many a lover. Do you not see that? And when she tires of you, she will leave you for another without turning back. The girl is just like her mother, nothing but a whore! Maybe she even inherited the abilities of Freya and now is anywhere within the Nine Realms!”

The young man ignored the words slung his way, he did not care that his father believed him to be so petty. He was royalty, therefore it was only natural that everyone (including the one who had raised him) believed that he was spoiled when it came to women and sleeping with them. However how the older God assumed the Goddess to be a copy of the one who had given birth to her, as well as what he called her, stung badly. His mentality was all in fervent protests but they did not even threaten to roll off his tongue, he was better at keeping to himself than that. But the green eyes still betrayed him, the simmering rebellious anger was evident.

The God of Wisdom sighed once more. Time would teach his arrogant and ignorant child. This was where even someone as powerful as he could not change the course of fate, the Norns had their weavings and things would go accordingly. Although he was not entirely helpless, he would use the power given to him to salvage the situation. It was not only his duty as King but also as the head of the family – an ancient clan. The Ruler of Asgard would not allow such dishonor to fall upon his very name without doing anything to at least lessen the shame.

“I will not allow, however, for this burden to befall your young and naïve head. This marriage shall not be annulled, thus will be part of your punishment. You laid out your bed for yourself, Loki, and now you shall sleep in it! You are her husband and she is your wife, your misdeeds will forever shame her and hers will forever shame you!”

If the use of the matrimonial titles was an attempt to faze him, then it missed the mark by many, many yards. Although he did try to look as shamed as possible (while staying true to himself though).

“You are bound to her until your death, no other shall be yours and no other will be hers in marriage! None will break this bond asunder! I hope that now, my son, you are beginning to grasp the magnitude of your careless actions. My child or not, you are no different from any other who would have done this” the tone was final sounding, the male below did not try to plead him to reconsider (not that he really wanted to anyway).

“I cannot force her to be loyal to you, but I can make her unable to do it. And if she ever finds a way around it, then the power I shall bestow upon her will cripple her for the moment because of a grave disobedience to her name. The lash of our people will be also there to shame her, harsh words will persecute her and there will be no place to hide from them. That is all I can do to help you maintain your honor, son”

The Godling did not like those words one bit. Gungnir was brought down to the ground again. This time there was an aftershock of power, signifying an order to be made. The God of Magic waited for the verdict.

“I, Odin Borrson, King of Asgard, the Allfather – announce this marriage to be valid! I proclaim Sigyn Freyadottir to honor each vow and word, to never break their sacredness! I bestow her with the name – Goddess of Fidelity and Bonds, to always be loyal and faithful without failure!”

If the reactions would not have been seen, he was sure that he would have frowned. Having his ‘wife’ all to him was more than fine, but her being forced to it – was not. However the conflict was saved by a dim knowledge, whispering with barely audible sound, that this would not affect her. The Master of spell-craft did not know, even with his vast grasp of ethereal power, that denying boundaries was the girl-woman’s ability that touched this command as well. She was a true Vanir and no matter the greatness of one of the strongest beings (if not _the_ strongest) in all of Yggdrasill, it held no power over her. Odin’s order would fall upon deaf ears and would not change anything about her. Their contract (by sheer coincidence occurring in Vanaheim) was much more potent than the Odinfather’s words. Despite being spoken and not written and also so lightly phrased, unknowingly, it had bound the two lovers together. Only the listed conditions were functional, they would be each other’s as long as they were the only creatures in that equation. However they had all the free will to betray, the agreement did not involve the ability to hinder or cut off that kind of decisions from treading into reality.

Afterwards the seated God told the caught Trickster the rest of his punishment. Receiving it would not be the most dreadful part, for that point had already been passed, without any problems (more or less). In the end the perfect deceit forged by the God of Deceit was not doubted, else the repercussions would have been a thousand times more severe.

* * *

 

Walking with two guards beside him was not diminishing. They were escort and he was not a prisoner in shackles. Free will and obedience was how this worked. You did something wrong (or you were assumed to do so and the matter was brought to the Allfather) and you faced the repercussions for your actions. It was as simple as that.

Loki was lead to one of the sublevel rooms (meant for torture to be frank) but they were not _the_ dungeons. The underground of the Golden Palace was just as vast as the fortress itself. There were torture chambers closer to the cells (there was a wide array of them, for the purpose of containing various creatures), but he was not headed towards those.

He was intimately acquainted with his destination. Not for the first time was he to be a ‘guest’ there. The God of Mischief was also familiar with what lied below, but that was for different reasons.

Most of the torture rooms of the Bright Home were nothing like one would expect them to be. They resembled chambers meant for surgical purposes, like those in the infirmary wing. But perhaps that was the idea, they inspired fear far better than dark dungeon-like ones. Bright lights, smooth metal tables, golden instruments and scalpels. Torturers so similar to healers: professional, uncaring, silent and unswayable – giving the petrifying illusion of them being anything but alive, so mechanic and precise, without a factor of compassion. That place was so sterile as if it was meant to stop wounds from getting infected. The smell of disinfectant lingered heavily in those rooms. Blood was swiped and scrubbed away immediately, never left to stain. One glance when those torture rooms were in use and none would be able to deny the imminent fear they instilled. Such a meticulously forged despair. The envy-green garbed Prince had to admit that even he was not left completely unfazed by them, although he had never been subjected to the direct horror of that place.

However that was not where he was being taken. The man’s punishment would be executed in another part of the grand underground. One of the regions of old, left unchanged by his father. Archaic and ancient the area for spilling blood was. It had a different yet familiar tangy taste of fear connected with it. Probably those chambers were a remnant of the previous Ruler, King Borr – his grandfather (if not older than that generation).

Quite a few wings and chambers of the palace were like that. Instead of refined décor: gold, glass, wrought metal, polished wood and marble or granite; those were of unhewn stone, cracking-polish on millennia old oak and roughly fashioned metals (the last were a rarity). There were halls of the latter category, they were used quite often. They were dark and torch-lit, the furniture consisted of long tables and benches rather than chairs (only a different wooden seat for the leader), with more than a few fire-pits – in order to warm (at those times flames were the only means of heating a room) and to prepare the meals. There was nothing of new in those areas, everything used there was from that period. Even the chalices and platters (forget eating utensils) were either from metal (mainly green-tinted brass), clay or wood.

As unappealing to royal taste that may have sounded, those halls were indeed nothing of the sort. Feasting there always created a certain mood, one that the larger and more grandeur-soaked chambers could not. Perhaps it was the size or the brutish behavior that forged the casual atmosphere, which was absent in the new rooms redesigned for celebration. Although still larger than any tavern, those places had all the air of one. Laughter, brawls and drinking ‘till no recollection whatsoever – all of that was there, much more unleashed than anywhere else. The God of Trickery appreciated that effect, of course not to the level Thor did. It was the element of the God of Thunder: weaving tales of heroic adventures, listening to bards in the background, eating and drinking far more than one should, talking louder than appropriate, laughing and joking without reserve, smashing (or at least throwing down) mugs and yelling for ‘ANOTHER!’. Yes, that was his older brother’s forte. However it did not mean that the younger disliked such age-old fun.

The God of Lies reckoned that probably the old domes of Norse kings looked like that (he had nearly no memory of those Midgardian lands of North, the young Heir was just a child then and his visits had been scarce). More than a few hundreds of years had passed since then and mortals changed so quickly. After the war against Jotunns, Odin’s visits to Midgard had lessened. For some time now they had ceased absolutely. If those journeys by the God of Wisdom would disappear completely (unless of course a tragedy would strike that world), then Asgard and all its inhabitants would fall to myth and bedtime stories, it was already occurring.    

The walking male nearly sighed aloud. He was convinced that he did not dread this punishment (not like he had not experienced it before, the number was probably close to six hundred), but his mind did strange things. There was no need to steel himself and he was not supposed to wander in his thoughts like this. As if he’d never seen his own home, the God was caught up in contemplations about architecture. Now if it were not him in this situation, he would have quickly written this off as an attempt to steer one’s thoughts away from the impending. In cases like this he usually drank in the physical pain or ignored it to the point where he was actually planning insignificant things while subjected to the punishment. So perhaps in a way he could at times use that technique – but not for the reason of trying to lessen the pain. The Lie God had long since adapted to this kind of hurting. When he was a child, he had experienced the same (just in a much lesser quantity and not in the dungeons). Then when he was smaller than a shrub, yes, then he had cried. Not quite sobbed or begged for it to stop (even then he was prideful), just shed silent tears. But that quickly changed and it was beneath him to be humiliated like that and so his pride did the rest. Dealing with pain and wounds left after came with the years of early adolescence. He had tasted a whip much more than Thor, but both were quite firm during whippings.

The guards led him through the lowers, past dark, natural fire illuminated corridors. They stopped by the entranceway to the place where he would receive his punishment. The boy-prince marched into it with a confident stride (like he always did, even when he was seething).

The room was small (compared to the size of most of the upper levels), the ceiling was moderately low. He was glad that the dungeons were not damp – he could not stand the humidity of underground. There were plenty of not fond memories of visitations to various humid torture chambers throughout the Ash World Tree, without his choice in the matter.

In the center there was a sizable boulder, beside which a man stood in waiting. The young God began removing his coat and undershirts manually, no to stall, but because it was befitting to do so in this chamber of old. He discarded his clothing carelessly and approached the torturer. The said burly male was dressed in torn, peasant garb. He had a fabric mask – a bag, over his head. How very appropriate, just like the executors of long ago looked. With a bloodied axe and a tree stump in front, of course with the addition of a scaffold – and the perfect scenery would have been created.

Despite the concealed face, the Dark Prince would have recognized the man. It was not the first they had met like this. He was very observant, no matter that such a bulky stature was so common in Realm Eternal, he could still pick him out from a crowd with ease.

The Godling was grateful that his torturer was always silent, a very Heimdall-esque trait. The fact always allowed him to be uncaring, rather than having to either will his silver tongue to function and retort or keep quiet on any dangerous remarks.

The rock was like a centerpiece of the chamber and had been in it most possibly since the very beginning. There were holes drilled in it for the purpose of housing chains at some point, but those had long since been removed and not replaced to his time. One of the sides of the stone was straighter, shaped by the many prisoners that had had the _pleasure_ of being bound to it. He knelt by it and felt the cold surface of the boulder touch him revoltingly. The standing man tied him to it with a vinyl-like rope – how unfitting, such a foreign element in this dwelling of ancient. The purpose of it was not to stop any attempts at escaping – but to hold him still and not allow him to slump down.

While the God of Mischief was roped he glanced to his right. There were shackles imbedded in the wall, all lined up in a neat row. The reason was probably to instill fear to the _observers_ , to see what they would receive if they refused to cooperate or in order to break them. Very old-fashioned but not ineffective. The cuffs and chains were old, eaten away by millions of years. Maybe even his physical strength would be enough to break free of such because the lack of care and disuse made them weak as they were left for ruin. Although magic was used much more before Odin’s reign (and less frowned upon) those bindings were not enchanted. So together with the corrosion and lack of spell-weaving – they would not pose a threat to one such as he.

He craned his neck back to the left and pressed his cheek to the stone, it would be the most comfortable position to stay in. Gravel dug into his clothed knees and he humorlessly thought of children left to knee on peas as punishment. He wondered whether any bothered with such traditions anymore in their families. He however had never been sent to a corner to suffer thus in his early years. The young man was always brought to this when he disobeyed and caused mayhem, or some other similar form of enforcing obedience and teaching a lesson (the kind he never learned) was used.

The tie held him tightly but did not cut into his skin. He barely heard the way the man ran his hand along the whip and tugged it forcefully to see if it was sturdy enough. Well, at least this tool was similar to those used in this room generations ago. It was made the same way as then – actual leather braided in a strong and tight braid. It was funny how the flesh of the dead (even if it were of animals’) would bring him pain, it was as if the dead where there to mock him too.

The Heir did not catch the sound of the whip being raised and swung, he was far too interested in the space itself. The first lash fell upon his bare alabaster back – he did not even flinch and his breath did not hitch. The rock that the ceiling and walls were fashioned of was indeed ancient. As old as it was though, it did not look as if it was crumbling away or left in disrepair. No, there were various sings of reconstruction made to the crack in the walls, filled with a wide array of materials used in different periods. He was certain that some of them were made when he was little, they were quite recent compared to the others.

Ten strikes later he was just as unfazed as before. They came very evenly and he was aware that this certain man did not tire, so because of it he was free to expect that they would always fall down on time. Such a number was what he would receive as a child and leaving with such a count on his skin would not hinder his walk in the slightest. Ten was a petty game for him and he was going to break his records today.

The most such a treatment would force him into would be quiet grunts, so he was quite composed and he prided himself at that. This torturer though was famed for his heavy swings that made muscle crawl away from bone. However, strangely, it did not have such an effect on Loki. They did sting quite a bit though, and there were grotesque bloody gashes that crisscrossed throughout the expanse of his long spine. Despite the fact that he always bruised and bled easily, long-lasting and serious damage was hard to inflict upon him.

After fifty lashes he finally broke out into a cold sweat. It was an amount that would manage to end any mortal, but he was not one and this was far from over. He spent his time counting cracks in the walls and the number of times the whip wounded him.

The hit count was somewhere after a couple of hundreds. The God of Lies was panting heavily, he’d probably reach his previous milestone soon. To ease up the strain on his teeth he could have conjured a bit, however he did not need one. The God of Magic taught himself not to be reliant on such a thing, not always would he have the luxury of choice or escape (when it was not punishment chosen by his royal house – but by other, questionable parties). Also he refrained from grinding his teeth and simultaneously not letting out any noise. Yes, a bit would have helped, but that was not how he chose it to be.

There was the sound of the whip flying through the air; those lashes were not restrained, at all. The God of Deceit was already squirming hard each time the leather weapon violently kissed his snowy flesh, the rope however secured him from moving too much. The strikes had a beat to them, he did not detect whether the torturer was out of breath, his own vehement functioning of lungs was too loud to discern other, quieter sounds.

Blood trickled down him and he knew that the damage was extensive, he did want to see though. Pain was beginning to muddle his genius brain, still it was as ever active. The comparison created was very much accurate, even if it was humiliating – his father treated him like a dog when it came to punishments. But just like to a starved hound (of what he was not sure of) – beating never helped in training. The metaphor was very befitting. The Odinfather expected that he would not bite the hand of those that fed and cared for him or raised him. This sort of reforming that he was often subjected to did not make him for the better. On a subconscious level the Trickster was always starved of attention, a rare few gave it to him, but it was not enough and he got it by any means necessary. He did not care whether it was through god or bad deeds – as long as he was noticed.

* * *

 

The tortured one had long since lost count and he was absolutely disoriented, he could not tell how much time had passed. He had begun earnestly hoping that it would end soon. The mental exhaustion from the _light_ conversation with his King, combined with the gaps in his full power magic-wise and the brutal violation of his physique – left his mind in barely held-together tatters. The small aspect of him that managed this great feat was doing everything in mechanic functions – trying to keep him true to what he wanted, even when he could not possibly care anymore. That little fraction of him was his superficial pride, it always without fail covered up his insecurities and shortcomings (often even from the highborn God himself). But this many a blow withstanding trait was dangerous, for it also had the capacity of making him step out of line in defiance, without a worry for the consequences.

It was understandable why the flogged male believed that after such a number of lashings he would feel different than he did. He was wrong to think that his body would feel numb and his anticipations were proved false in the most unwanted way. His knees complained from where the small debris pressed into them, his whole body screamed from the tension that staying so long in this position created, but worst of all – was the condition of his back. The nerves still flared in the most elaborate of agonies and each bringing of the whip only added fuel to the fire.

The binding (which was probably the only thing that was not cutting into him because the rock itself was definitely going to leave bruises from the forceful pushes into its uneven surface) was what kept the man from slipping to the inviting ground. He was not aware exactly when he had lost the ability to uphold his posture, but it was certainly not a recent change, and now he was slumped over the boulder.

The Godling’s loved/hated pride was probably the thing disallowing him to pass into that glorious blackout that called out to him each time his eyes closed. It was also the one thing to stop him from complaining in intangible vocalizations – screams.

The clocklike rhythm had stilled, he would have enjoyed the chaos if he’d been in a higher state of alertness. Finding the will in himself to frown (not that the whip-wielder could see from his standing point) at the pause. Against all odds a glimmer in him believed that it was not because the other had tired. The boy-prince was too much unaware of his surroundings to be able to tell what was going on. It was impossible to call what he was doing waiting or anticipating because in all truth, he was not capable of doing anything. Mercifully or not but something had shut off in him.

There was unheard shuffling and he only gathered that it was finally _done_ when the rope was untied. At that instance, with energy that it did not have, his form was brought back from its near vegetative state. If not for such a swift regaining of physical control the Throne Heir would have fallen off. His hands dug into the stone, fingernails splintering from the weight they were required to steady because of his weakened body. Although he was not coherent enough to perceive that.

Now that the ethereal had faded away and reality had set back into the scene, some of his senses returned. He did not look but was aware that the designated torturer had carefully walked away without a word, leaving the suffering one alone. However, it was something he appreciated, there was far too much weakness displayed today. The man always left in this strangely respectful way, well, it was royalty that he delivered punishment to. A more proper courtesy should be displayed to one that held such a title, but the Trickster God suspected there was a hefty reason why such was not incorporated. Be it him or his brother, both would have snapped at any words or gestures after being humiliated like this. It was safer for such a ‘shadow’ servant to not bother the sons of Odin any longer than was necessary to complete the task given.

The younger child doubted that the Storm God would ever be subjected to this type of torture if their father would suddenly decide to make such punishments public. The God of Lies was not sure if his valiant yet cracking pride would withhold it. He was frighteningly certain that if he were to disobey the God of Wisdom in a way which would be deemed even worse than the current disgrace, his father would have no qualms against making a spectacle of his power to everyone. Yes, Loki thought, it would be set as an example – that even the Princes were not safe from repercussions for their actions (or well, more accurately, just the second-born).

The Prince rose to his feet without his usual grace. He stood on shaking legs and each step was a battle all on its own. He approached his discarded clothes and regretted that he had thrown them so carelessly. He had not thought about how difficult it would be to bend down and pick them up. However he managed to gather them. Putting the heavy garb on was not easy, but he did try to fasten all the belts on the leather pieces and make himself as presentable as possible. That mission was not executed perfectly.

If the young man had been a different person he would not have bothered and simply walked out bare-chested. Although it was not propriety that made him do it, it was not rare that he would wander the palace in a certain state of undress (as did Thor) and he did not give a damn about what others thought. He was simply raised this way – to never show any vulnerability and showing off wounds would have been just that.

With the aid of a wall that steadied him, he made his way out of the dungeons and through the Asgardian fortress. He could have left without dressing, the chances of seeing anyone else were slim. But that was not the point, even if he wouldn’t greet a soul, he still wished to maintain himself.

The Heir did not meet any creatures for it was night, at least that was what the scenery behind the windows dictated. He was not headed for the healing rooms, although there was nothing to stop him and the healers who were on their shift at the moment – could not deny royalty. But he never sought help after a punishment (he was reluctant to do so no matter how he’d come to being harmed), not even when he had been little. When he was a child his mother would personally treat his wounds. That lasted until the years had changed his ‘crimes’ into heavier ones and when he was deemed old enough to be left alone.

The hallways were dark and empty, and that was good. The Godling did not register the trail of blood that he left on the wall and floor as he slowly progressed towards his chambers. If not for his hazy mind, he would have understood the vulnerability that leaving the sanguine liquid behind displayed.

With only a few stumbles on his way, he had actually reached his bedchamber. Not bothering with removing his clothing he simply collapsed onto his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Borr is Odin's father in both the myths and the marvel universe.
> 
> Green tinted brass – yes, I do know what brass looks like and it can be green-ish. Of course that is definitely not the case if you have Nordic gold in mind – a copper alloy that is golden colored. I mentioned brass for several reasons: firstly – it is one of the metals used in the Bronze Age (which went after the Neolithic period) and second – I just like its name in my tongue and what archeological findings of things fashioned from it where found here. Specifically from those items found in Baltic lands my attention was caught by round brass clasps. Some of which are even zoomorphic – very, very similar to Scandinavian clasps. And that is not surprising, knowing that Vikings swam the Baltic sea and visited the Balts. As for the name of brass in my language, then it's "Žalvaris", a merging of two words – "žalias" and "varis", in English – green and copper. -Totally irrelevant information that I wished to share. Because even when I make sense – I don't.


	18. Family. Part I

**Chapter eighteen**

**_Family._ ** **Part I**

Waking up was a _bad_ idea. Loki’s inner clock estimated that it was well past midday, the view over-window confirmed it. For a second he was mystified as to why he had woken up so early after his excruciating ordeal. His body was quick to inform him why in the most agonizingly blazing way. He instantly regretted not having undressed because now his clothing was stuck to his back and the state of his wounds had worsened severely.

The young man got up, for rest at that point was impossible to resume. Manually removing the sticking apparel was unsuccessful. Moving his shoulders inspired pain of such a magnitude that putting it into words was not something he could have done.

The clothes he wore where not energy-based, so willing them away was not an option. His power level was better than it had been after the nightly torture, therefore the Master of Magic could afford creating a copy of himself. This art he had yet to master fully, it was not the flickering illusions he used in battles, this ability was something else entirely. Conjuring a familiar was out of the question for there were none in his arsenal that had the necessary limbs that could carefully relieve him of his garb. The God of Magic knew that a small army of tiny familiars could be used, but that required too much effort. Something as ethereal as shadows of pure energy could also serve such a purpose, but again, it was not in his state to manage controlling fluidly.

The double was of an unfinished quality, nothing noticeable to the untrained eye, but it was still missing the bodily qualities that would have sufficed in convincing anyone that it was truly a person. Yes, if this clone marched through a street, no one would question their sight. Alas coming into close contact would betray his creation. The touch would be different – a hand might even go straight through it, leaving a slimy residue of invisible energy (to one without the ability to witness such) or would just inspire that unnerving feeling of something being amiss. One would assume such a strange creature to be a ghost or maybe a fylgja. So in the end, this spell was still unusable.

The Godling’s copy gingerly removed the heavy leather cloak and set it aside neatly. Next were the many overlays with intricate belts and ties, most of them had been fastened poorly prior. He was left only in a light tunic, the front of which he had cut with a dagger, so that it would be easier to remove.

The fabric that stuck to his back had irritated the damaged flesh even more. The double grasped the green material and tore it away in one forceful tug. The sorcerer could not fight off the loud roar that was also torn from him. He stumbled and with a shrug the offending garment descended to the floor. _Oh joy_ , there had been some skin left after all, key words – _had been_. He did not wish to see the sickening sight of his back and it was good that he did not share the visuals with his conjured clone. With a measured step he left his bedroom and avoided his image in the many mirrors that adorned the chamber.

The wounds needed cleaning, it was already unfortunate enough that he had left them to fester before. In his onyx marbled and golden lined washing room the male stripped completely and his body disapproved of the twisting and bending. The clothes of that day would have to be disposed of, he wanted them burned – erased, much like the humiliation he’d suffered, completely from his mind. It was not like there weren’t any servants to wash them. No, it was their job to cleanse clothing of sweat and stains, mend them when needed, also to scrape congealed blood and then polish armor. So it would not be unheard of for him to give his garb for them to care, only that this time he wished it to disappear and take the memory together.

Stepping into the high tub was a battle all on its own. The shower of water that graced his pained form was anything but soothing. The droplets stung even the skin that was left unharmed. His body was all for singing odes about the disrespect it had lived through and of which it was now suffering the consequences.

The copy followed and joined him in the large bathtub. It was attempting to cleanse his conjurer as carefully as possible and that was a mission born to harsh failure. The magician noted how the clothing of the other was so unreal that it did not have the refined detail to even get wet, creating a sight of an illusion rather than a double created by a Master of Magic. He did not care as long as the hands of it were physical enough to handle the task.

After decent cleaning both creator and creation stepped back into the sleeping chamber. The God was quick to adorn a pair of loose trousers, it would be too much energy consuming to put on several garments – like he usually did.

His physique still required tending. Since the Prince was often left to lick his wounds on his own, certain necessities for that were always present in his abode. To use the full capacity of healing his Aesir blood allowed – he would not even know where to begin with. Even if he had the strength to heal himself, he was not good enough of a healer to fix his current state thoroughly. Given enough time the flesh and muscle would mend on their own and no scars would remain – that was the only option he truly had.

Bandages and healing ointments were all that the Heir had at his disposal. So that was what his double set to work with. He wistfully thought about needles and stitching, although how much that would have helped was unclear – there were large blotches of skin missing after all. Still some minor threading would have aided the healing process a little, but that was impossible to bring into reality at the moment. His clone would not be able to accomplish such a meticulous attention demanding task.    

Once his back was rubbed with potent oils, padded and then torso winded with strips of white cloth, he uncalled the mirror image of himself. Afterwards the God of spell-craft clambered into his bed, falling face forward into the bedding.

* * *

 

The God of Mischief slept for two days straight. The morning of the third he had spent staying in his bed, pushed into contemplation.

In the time he spent holed-up in his sanctuary there had been no visitors. Not even servants had been sent to inspect the punished God of Deceit. And it had nothing to do with the barred doors, nothing at all. In his anger-spiked mind he believed that for all Odin cared, he could have _died_ here and no one would be aware of it.

His mother had not come to check upon her son’s health. The thought hurt. However it was not that he wanted her to – his mind was not prepared to deal with her concern or her questioning. Still it was disappointing that Frigga heeded her husband’s wishes (orders) instead of caring for the wellbeing of her child. A child she had spent so long carrying in her womb and he was less important than her respect for the Odinfather. He knew that the Queen was worried and he did not doubt that. But of course the Lie God was a man of age (even if a young one) and so she could not care for him like a babe. Somehow it still stung that she was a wife first and a mother – second.

The second-born wished even less to see his older brother, which considering that he did not want to see anyone – was controversial. But for all Thor’s brashness and disregard of father, the one time his disobedience would not have been unaccounted for – it did not occur. There was nothing that he could have said to the God of Thunder, but even so, it was quite humorous that when disrespecting the Allfather’s whims (orders) was not harmful – it never happened.

* * *

 

He had spent a whole week confined (by choice) in his chambers, not a soul had even turned in the direction of his green-tinted haven during that period. It was hunger that had shooed him out of those chaotically pristine rooms.

Loki was not completely healed, he had tended to his wounds with utter care and he was well on his way to returning to prim shape. However they were still raw, but perhaps that was more so in his psyche rather than physique.

The Godling could have used the palace servants to attain the much needed sustenance, but much like with the healers, in cases as this, he was stubbornly independent. Sneaking into any of the kitchens had never been a hard task, even when he was a kid. However he was not the only one that ventured and left those places discreetly, his elder sibling was also a common uninvited guest. Because truly, what was better than a midnight snack, with a tiny added spice of challenge? Although, there was no debate in the younger Prince’s understanding that he was a better lurker than Thor.

After the unnoticed stealing and consuming of food, the male strutted defiantly through Gladsheim with no actual destination mind. His bold wandering was not unnoticed and in nearly counted minutes since he opted walking about the large dome there was a young servant who stopped the Heir to pass a message to him. _Oh how splendid_ , the Queen requested his presence.

* * *

 

The young God found the older Goddess relatively easy (given the fact that the page had told him where she was). He had not delayed and headed straight to answer the call. There was nothing that required his immediate attendance (for example: his appearance, which was perfect and there were no signs of any kind of the suffering that he had been put through), so he dared not to take any detours, even if there would never be any sort of backlashes for being late or absent.

The room was bright, lit by the warm afternoon sun. It was close to the gardens but did not have any open terraces (just in case there could be some additional ears present). The coloring of the chamber was soft, all in soothing pastel hues, not his preference – but it did remind him of his mother. Pleasant scents lingered in the air, that of sweet pastries and Frigga’s faint floral perfume.

She sat by a small round table gazing through the windows. Upon the fine wooden structure a snow-white cloth, with floor-trailing sheer lace ends, was draped. As usual for this time of day there were sweet foods in abundance. Always more than necessary for several Gods, but this time there was even more than ordinarily.

The moment the door opened her head gracefully turned to its direction (but not before the Dark Prince had caught sight of her garden-observing gaze).

“Loki” the royal woman greeted him first, her tone was balm-like as always.

“Mother” he said and was keenly aware (although her eyes did not show vivid concern) how she was seizing him up, searching for any indicators of his current bodily state.

She gestured to the plush chair opposite her.

“Sit” the boy-prince noted how her words were never anything like a command, always a request. Even then when they were indeed not, but this was not the case.    

The young man took the offered seat. He was unconsciously uncomfortable sitting with his back to the door. He should not have been, for this was his home, but he was often paranoid like this.

The Queen was a stunning sight to behold. Part of her hair was uplifted in an intricate braided chignon, the rest – falling behind her. Her pale gold tinted, long sleeved dress clung to her torso and flowed freely downwards. The gown was fashioned from little hexagonal shapes, similar to that of a honeycomb. It strangely reminded him of beeswax. Were the situation any different he would have openly marveled at her beauty.

The older female’s first inquiry did not come as a surprise, it was most possibly the thing that bothered her most of all.

“How are you?”

“I am fine” the God of Deceit answered. He was not aware whether she caught the mistruth, but his mother never openly opposed his _little white lies_.

She nodded slightly and seemed to be contented with his reply.

“Tea?” the question was posed in the demure way that she spoke.

He was not thirsty by any means but the youngest Heir could not muster up the gall to insult her and decline.

“Yes, thank you”

It was unfitting for a woman of her stature to act like a servant and do such a menial task on her own. The small, painted porcelain cup was filled with the hot brew. The steam carried the smell of mint and it was one from the array of his favorites. It would be warm but refreshing, truly not the worst of teas.

She then tended to her own blue swirl-flower ornamented teacup. The platter it rested atop was in her hand as she took a delicate sip, it clattered audibly due to her shaking hold. Noticing thus, she set it back down onto the oval table.

“You must eat something”

The God of Trickery was not troubled with hunger and was not tempted by the feast that laid before him, despite the fact that he was not an enemy of sugar. Still he only extended his plate to the High Goddess without offering any verbal agreement or disagreement.

Again she refused to call any servants to do it, and cut a small, symmetrical piece of one of the many cakes that rested on the tiers. At least she took into account that he may not have wanted to eat at all and only agreed to do so because of politeness. The dessert that he was given was of a dark glaze and filling, the God of Lies knew that the taste would be rich and exquisite, matching well with the beverage that was served.

If not for the clattering platter, then the other details confirmed his suspicions of Frigga’s deep unsettledness. As she cut herself the same cake that she had handed to her son, she lacked her usual precision. The biscuit base had crumbled and she simply pushed the pieces into her little plate carelessly. It was a big chunk of cake (that was not peculiar, for he was not the only one in his family that was not opposed to sweets). It looked like a sloppy brown mess, although he could vouch that it was tasty, despite its appearance.

A heavy silence settled between mother and child. Both consumed their afternoon snack in delicate little spoonfuls.

The youngling waited for the gentle prodding to begin, he knew that once she would gather herself it would start. Her manner of questioning always sent him deep into tranquility, managing to lull his defenses into inviting slumber. It was more difficult to be the Lie God that he was – to her, rather than to father. While his predecessor was definitely the more dangerous and target of much greater deceit, it was easier to deflect cold accusations.

“Why did you do it?” there was nothing judgmental about her tone. It was not hard to detect the need to know of his reasoning, but there was also a certain reluctance to find out.

When he was ornery it was difficult to get anything out of him, however it was not because he did not yield the answers like he should. She was well aware that forcing him was like poking him with a red-hot poker – and that did never bode well.

The Godling drank his tea, hoping that the minty flavor would smoothen his lash-out. He was worse without the infusion of a high sugar dose in him.

“Has father not told you everything there is to know about it?” despite his best wishes, his response was still far from being calm, it resembled a hiss.

“That does not matter. I want to hear it from you” a sigh and the Queen continued without allowing him to verbally interfere “I know you better than this, Loki. You have more foresight to have anticipated this outcome. There is no doubt in my mind that you must have liked the girl--”

“Sigyn” he interjected.

He fretted slightly for his correction, for if it was anything – then it was definitely a confirmation. So all that there was, was to wait and see how much of a mistake it was to act so brashly.

“Sigyn” she repeated and it did not sound wrong to hear the name he so adored come from her lips. “Surely, if you would have asked Lord Njord for her hand, he would not have refused you”

The man instantly was brought to light of a faulty choice – he did not know when exactly had his love been betrothed to the other-of-no-longer. Hopefully, the royal woman was not aware of the actual date or it was well before the short time he’d known the young Lady.

“I had met her after her engagement to the Crimson Hawk”

“That does not change anything--”

“But it does!” he bit back again, sounding more and more like a rabid dog rather than the schooled creature that he was. “He would not have given her to me or to Thor” he was sure to emphasize the difference between the Golden son and himself. She could have denied all she liked – but the younger was not the same in the eyes of the court.

“That makes no difference. Having his granddaughter marry into the house of Odin, he would not have declined the offer”

“He would have”

“Why?” was the confusion-laced question.

“Yes, it would have been the greater honor, but not if the bride was to be Sigyn. If it where any other of his granddaughters, then he would have given them gladly to either of us” the Heir was referring to a future marriage, due to the age of the Goddess’s other sisters (except for Lofn). Even so, an agreement could have been met well before the proper age to wed. Sneering he continued “The Vanir wanted her to be given to a man that could have made her into a proper figure of court. Having one of his blood and short in his understanding of perfection wedded into Asgard’s royalty was unacceptable. And if he would have cared for Sigyn’s wishes, he would not have arranged a marriage without her consent!” and he spoke truthfully.

It seemed to make sense to Frigga, knowing the fact that the Nobleman’s eldest grandchild (the eldest of the ones he raised) had not yet shared vows with anyone. She did not nitpick at his point of view of the situation.

The rest of the conversation was not void of the ever-present strain. However the right, detail requesting inquiries were not made and the male was grateful for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fylgja – is a term that has several meanings. Specifically here it is used to describe a ghostly double (a doppelgänger). But it can also be a being that follows a person and represents his/hers fate and/or fortune. Fylgjur (plural) mostly appear as animals (can be interpreted as one's spiritual guide or an animalistic personification), however if it appears outside the dream-world (in one's awake reality) then it is an omen of the person's rapidly approaching death. However if they appear in the shape of women then they can be guardians of people or clans.


	19. Family. Part II

**Chapter nineteen**

**_Family._ ** **Part II**

 

 

The God of Mischief was marvelously upstaged. The Trickster was tricked. It was anticipated and yet not.

He entered one of ‘their’ rooms. There were certain wings and chambers that had an unofficial purpose, which was known to the inhabitants of the Asgardian fortress and the servants that worked in it.

It was a room unlike the many feasting halls that varied from style to importance. This was one of those used for gatherings and celebrations when the sons of the Allfather wished for a more casual setting. It lacked the long tables and such furniture that adorned those large areas, in other words – it resembled an antechamber or a living area. This room usually housed smaller companies that mostly consisted of the Princes and their (Thor’s) friends – mainly the Warriors Three and Lady Sif.

In the middle of the said chamber stood the God of Thunder, he was waiting for his brother to arrive. The God of Geceit instantly gathered why he was baited to come here.

A loud greeting was issued once the God of Lies was spotted.

“Brother!”

He returned the gesture of acknowledgement with a simple nod (because there was no need for proper etiquette between them) as he closed the door.

The Crown Prince had a glass of something in his hand, the other identified it to be mead. For those who knew him only from his presence in formal celebrations it would have seemed odd. However Loki was not one of those, so seeing him with a refined glass cup or a goblet, instead of a horn – was no surprise.

The second-born was not an enthusiast of mead, he was glad when his green eyes caught sight of two bottles on a small round table. One was meant for the older Heir and the second, containing aquavit – for him. It was endearing that he had thought about the younger Godling. It was clear though, that more than this quantity would be consumed tonight. There was an array of drinks stashed in the cabinets for exactly this purpose. From time to time both royal children would indulge in not staying sober for days, weeks or months.

Thor was transparent and there was nothing that indicated him being judgmental at the moment. It was his posture, facial expressions, those azure orbs, tone, actions (or at least one of the aspects) – that would betray his actual state.

The room that was like an antechamber to a guestroom – was decorated in that fashion. The waiting man took a seat in one of the considerably small armchairs and waited for the recently arrived one to join. By the table there was another seat pushed in a position that indicated the anticipation of the Thunder God.

The Lie God joined without question and poured himself a glass of the amber colored beverage.  

“How are you faring? I heard that father did not go easy on you” the Golden male said with a jest perceivable in his voice.

The Dark one snorted.

“I am fine”  

“Are you going to tell me what happened or will I have to get it out of you by force?” the tone remained light and playful.

“You found out that I had tricked an unwitting, innocent maiden into marriage, much to her horror she is now bound to me, and you came here to set things straight!” he sneered.

“No, I do not assume anything. Oh, don’t be so morose! It is me who should be upset. I come home after this little skirmish--” the God of Trickery barely contained himself from asking about the journey, but he knew that it would not sidetrack the Storm God enough, so he did not waste his breath “--and I find out that my little brother is a married man now! What is more, I was not even notified of this! It is I, who should be angry” the blond unconsciously wore his best pouty face, it was difficult to take him seriously.

“Settle down, Thor. It was not exactly a planned wedding. You did not miss much anyway”

“Nonsense! Now tell me, did the maiden know of your plot?”

Incriminating Sigyn was the last thing the Trickster God wanted to do. Therefore, the truth was told.

“No, she was not aware of it”

“Ah, but you had met her before, had you not?” there was a hint of expectation in the billowing volume of the elder Prince’s voice.

“Of course” the sorcerer said as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Taking a gulp of the thick alcohol, similar to syrupy liqueur in its substance, the God of Thunder continued.

“The talks are flying, you know--”

“Like wildfire I bet”

“Mhm, it is difficult to make anything out now”

“So you came to the source” the Dark Prince stated with a dry smile.

“Yes, indeed I have”

There was a pause, the firstborn seemed to be in good spirits. The aquavit was not strong enough, well, the God of Deceit could mend that with quantity.

The warrior-prince placed his elbow on the table and leaned onto his palm, his gaze giving all the attention to the sorcerer-prince. Such a peculiar pose for someone of his stature, but for all his royalty and being the next-in-line to become the Ruler of the realm, Thor was a gossip-whore when it came to hearing about the business of his sibling (well, at least the kind that interested him). Ever caring for his baby-brother – that trait was not appreciated most of the time.

“Sooooo, who is the girl?”

“Sigyn, one of Njord’s granddaughters”

The hammer-wielding God furrowed his eyebrows in thought.

“Which one?”

It was difficult to describe his lover in a way that would aid the confused one. Her hair and eyes changed on their own accord, but then again, that was something that had not happened in Asgard and not many were aware of it.

“The brunette”

He was lost in his memories for several of minutes before his face lit up in recognition.

“Oh, I remember! It was a couple of months prior my leave, when Lord Njord had come to discuss something with father. It was her with the little one”

“Yes”

“She is pretty”

The God of Deceit offered a genuine grin.

“You will have to show me my little sister sometime, haha!”

He nodded absentmindedly at it.

With that the theme was dropped, it was the depth of his brother’s interest in the subject. He asked no more questions about it and Loki thought – innocent Thor, never one to assume that the God of Lies had sinister motives when it came to women (not that he really was that kind of man, no matter what talks were flying about him; his interest in females, prior to Sigyn, was that of an artist admiring something beautiful from afar).

But the Thunder God was not much different from him in that aspect. What time could there be for sleeping with someone when the Crown Prince was always busy? His time was spent on vigorous training (while the second-born Prince poured over his books and refined his magic). If not that, then the elder was part of any ongoing celebrations and feasts. There he would flirt with all of the maidens that clung to him, tell loud tales, joke, attempt to dance, eat and drink until he would pass out by one of the tables. A formidable drinker that he was (far above that of an average Aesir) but he still could never outdrink his sibling magician, who always had to drag his heavy ass back to his chambers.

When the Trickster God’s luck ran out – then the Storm God would demand to being taken to the aforementioned one’s quarters (trying to convince a drunk to stay in his own was a moot point). Even worse was when Thor would somehow manage to crawl to his brother’s rooms and crash on one of the couches or dare to occupy the bed. Often it seemed that when he was heavily on the opposite side of soberness, he required the presence of the younger Godling and sometimes the elder even asked for him to read aloud whatever that he was reading, as if it was a non-sung lullaby of sorts (and since the Master of Magic had difficulty of ever getting properly hammered with alcohol, he spent his night-owl energy on studying).

The Heirs partied more often than not (much to their father’s dismay), so these scenarios occurred nearly every day. When small warring conflicts would arise both were only focused on them, which meant that there was no time to lead a decent ‘nightlife’ of _that_ kind. Knowing the older one’s habits, it was clear that Thor rarely required _bed-warmers_ or vice-versa – him being the bedmate of others. Despite the fact that they were young and of noble birth – it did not mean that they necessarily had to fuck around all the time. Especially when neither of these factors were required to be a proper man-whore.

* * *

 

The talk extended into the early morning lights, ranging to topics of various kinds (the marriage of the God of Mischief was not discussed anymore). The chamber’s stash was raided and there were empty bottles strewn all over the floor.

Getting the blond man to his bedroom was a hassle, alas the other male did not have the heart to leave him alone in the room they had occupied. Unless the Storm God lost consciousness, even in his intoxicated state he never slurred and was nearly completely coherent. It was a good thing that he was not an argumentative drunk, so telling him that the party was over and it was time to head back – was not usually met with any active verbal resistance. The only problem was that although he made sense, his legs would always give out on him. So helping such a barely standing _mass_ to walk was not an easy feat.

* * *

 

The young God spent the day sleeping-in. The next morning he was trekking to Noatun once again. He was heading there to take care of an unfinished business, which was too dangerous for his ‘wife’ to take care of by herself.

The wind was harsh, autumn was beginning to set its wings over Realm Eternal. The God of Magic did not hide his presence from the inhabitants of the region, however there were few that could spot it (mainly one Lord).

There were a couple of dots in the distance, his eyesight that was honed due to his shapeshifting abilities identified them to be Njord’s granddaughters. Without slowing his pace, the young God moved closer. Soon the distant females turned back to the direction of the sea palace, leaving only the smallest one behind.

The little creature lingered, looking at the waves of the high-tide. As her gaze left the moving waters, he was close enough to be clearly seen in her visuals. Freya’s youngest offspring must have recognized him for she began running in his direction.

The closer she got, the more details he could make out: the conflicted expression on the bubbly, childish face; the short and straight cut of her hair; the sky-blue dress with white cloud and flower embroidery. She made her way quickly through the sandy ground covered with sharp rocks, and steep banks were always beside her. The man felt a small fraction of concern for her wellbeing, it did not sit well with him – to fret about it; but what if she slipped and hurt herself?

When the doll-child was but a few steps away she issued a rushed greeting of proper etiquette. There was a messy attempt at curtsying.

“My Prince”

The male kneeled to her level and gestured with his hand to cease the use of protocol.

Perhaps it was the strong wind or something else, but there were unshed tears in Syn’s eyes.

He removed a letter from the inner pocket of his signature green coat and handed it to the babe. She hesitantly took it, her blue orbs began sparkling as she noticed her name written in a pretty cursive on the envelope. The handwriting she could not mistake, it was definitely her sister’s. She clutched the piece of paper to her chest and tried not to crumple it. The Godling could see that she was near to crying. The child was fumbling with words, it was a mix of something unidentifiable – the beginnings of questions and sentences unfinished; she did not know what to say. Quite quickly the tiny female did gather a coherent question, she asked of the most important thing to her.

“Is Sigyn alright?”

“Yes. Everything you need to know is in that letter” he gestured to the thing she had in her tight grasp, as if in fear that the strong wind would carry it away.

The Lady-child was once more at a loss of words. Her eyes darted between the kneeling God and the letter she had in her little hands. He smiled a reassuring smile.

The God of Deceit did not foresee her next course of action. The girl rushed to hug him and held on tightly, he awkwardly accepted the spontaneous embrace. He was brought to a realization – for all the poise that she held herself with, acting much like an adult, in the end she was still a child. It was a strange coincidence – this was nearly the exact place where his Goddess had run into his hands. In the cases of both of the sisters it was not anticipated.

A slight tremble shook Syn, he knew that she was crying silently. The God of Lies stroked her back, noting how she was dressed far too lightly for the chill weather. The position he found himself in was not without thought on the Vanir’s end. He was royalty and not one of a good reputation too – even she had to know that, yet there were reasons why she was trying to find solace in him.

With tears clogging her throat his lover had shared with him in what state her baby-sister had been at the wedding. Despite being under heavy suppressants, the tiny child was without a doubt told (or had gathered from the vicious gossip) what had happened during the ruined ceremony. Anyone interested in such happenings was definitely aware of the bride’s laughter, which should have made way to various speculations – but did not. So many Asgardians were such simpletons, never seeking more than one explanation. The house of Njord (which consisted of very few individuals) had always labeled Sigyn as mad, but no one else was aware of that, now though – all the court thought her to be insane. Loki wanted to pluck each of those slandering tongues because that was only the tip of the iceberg of what was said about his love.

Although to clever little Syn that mirth represented something else. She did not know anything of her elder sister’s connection with the Throne Heir, however the reactions of the older female at the procession said something. Sigyn wouldn’t have laughed if she were frightened or trapped with no means of escape – that was nothing like her. So the Lie God thought that the babe believed that at the very least her new brother-in-law was the better choice. Her older sibling dreaded the very idea of being near the Crimson Hawk she was betrothed to, therefore a strange Prince who she did not fear – could possibly be entrusted with the Goddess. However, it was clear that this young man was no ordinary Prince on a white horse, even if he had saved the princess-not-really-princess. So for now, there was no reason for the youngest Vanir to dislike the mysterious husband of the runaway bride.

The sobbing girl pulled away and he wiped away the tears from her cheeks. Despite the fact that the Trickster was crouching, she still had to look up to him. He wore a serene expression. Somewhat calmed from the emotional onslaught, the miniature creature observed as the Master of Magic slowly dispersed in green smoke without uttering a word.

* * *

 

In the next weeks the God tasked himself with gathering his beloved’s possessions. He did so discreetly but was uncaring if anyone of the household would notice him. The things Sigyn wanted to be retrieved were not many, they all fit in a few sizable bags. It was clear that the palace of Noatun could no longer serve as her home, so keeping her items there was not an option. There was also the possibility that soon her chambers would be cleared and finding her stuff could then be impossible, given if it would not be destroyed. The Godling did not know how deep Njord’s anger ran.

Nearly all of her wardrobe was to be taken. He took notice of the variety of silhouettes and colors of her gowns, all were commissioned works. Again he found himself appreciating her sense of style. Then there was jewelry – consisting of silver and an array of expensive gems, but there were also a few that had more of a sentimental value, rather than that in currency. There were a couple forged from gold – she did not want any of those, they were all gifts of people she no longer cared about.

A few dozen of books, containing various knowledge or fiction were also taken. An array of all sorts of things, used for different purposes, as well as some purposeless, also made way into the packs, which would reach Sigyn when the God of Magic would have the time to transport them. The items ranged from face paints and nail varnishes, scrapbooks and drawings, seashells and feathers, to puzzle-boxes and hairbrushes; in other words – all kinds of trinkets.

The raiding of her rooms proceeded without any difficulties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I wanted to tell you that if I've made Thor look very simpleminded or oblivious – then that does not represent the actual idea of him in this fic. Rather than that, he is actually not interested in anything else than what he had asked. It was a conscious decision and not something born out of him perceiving things very superficially. And everything else is glossed by his high belief in Loki (although Thor does not think his brother strong, but he does think of his morality in quite the delusional way).
> 
> It could have been expected of the two brothers to share open tales of bed matters, however it has been stated early in the story that they do not have such a habit. They are young but not spoiled, however the reason why they do not talk about it, here, is because they are royalty – and the kind that is not wearing a mask of propriety, they are actually quite proper. Still I've tried not to make them too proper and too 'schooled', both are obviously party fanatics, chronic alcoholics (from time to time) and basically freewill rebels. Therefore this was a certain balance I've tried to find between hardwired ethically-correct behavior and the mischievousness of youngsters. Hopefully I didn't get way off mark with that.


	20. Hangover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events in this chapter happen several months after the last chapter.
> 
> Warning! May contain bad attempts at humor! 
> 
> I take no responsibility for this chapter, it had been requested of me to incorporate a 'younger vibe'. So, I'll be shirking the responsibility onto someone else. I take no responsibility, lol.

**Chapter twenty**

**_Hangover_ **

 

 

Loki was rudely awakened. He did not open his eyes, the assault of the morning sun even beneath closed eyelids was too overbearing. It was far, far too warm. The unwanted wakeup call was Volstagg’s booming voice and the signal of his arrival – the bursting of a door.

“Rise and shine sleepyheads! Haha!”

The boisterous volume was too much and his headache intensified. The Lie God groaned and snuggled into his pillow. There were similar small noises of complaint from the other occupants of the room, some near him, others – further away. Pulling hung-over Gods from slumber like this was not considerate, not at all.

He straightened, shifting his weight onto his elbow and opening his eyes after a series of rapid blinks. The God of Deceit spied the room, the first thing he saw was the bare back of Thor, who was still quietly snoring.

“How did you get here?!” he did not shout but said it loud enough to be heard clearly, and due to the proximity – his brother actually began wakening.

The situation was not really surprising though, even if he hadn’t registered exactly when the God of Thunder had crawled into the ‘bed’ that the youngest Heir had claimed as his. The younger Prince had nothing against sleeping beside the older, but when it concerned a large bed! This, this was not a bed. It was a couch, sure it was extended, which doubled its size, but it still could not rival what he’d call a normal bed. And when it concerned that bed hog, this piece of furniture had far too little space. And he was a king sprawler himself, so he had no clue to what had made his sibling think that this was a good idea. Oh, wait sure he did! It was the alcohol.    

This was one of ‘their’ rooms, which were mostly used for the sort of gatherings like the one that happened last night/this morn. The chamber was a mess – as it was supposed to be: there were empty plates on the small tables and on every surface that could house them – bureaus, cellarets, buffets, bookcases and anything else. Empty bottles littered the floor in tidy little squadrons, some ‘soldiers’ were standing, others had fallen.

It was a strange sight to witness Fandral sleeping (well, he had been previously) when it wasn’t during a lengthy armed conflict or mission. More so, to see the man dozing in an armchair, with as much as poise as one could muster in such a position (and it wasn’t a lot, not at all). This was peculiar because the saber-wielding male was indeed a member of any celebration that occurred in Asgard (and of any, nearly everyday little parties of the Storm God), but he never lingered there for the whole thing, always seeking out ‘pleasanter places’.

The only person missing from the Warriors Three was Hogun. He had no recollection of the male ever crashing with them after events such as this. The silent man had most possibly headed straight to train and meditate in the wee hours of morn, after this meager celebration of nothing in particular. And afterwards he did whatever it was that he did. The warrior was a mystery. Did he ever sleep after these parties? The God of Mischief was the renowned nightly pest, the crawler of the night who tormented those slumbering and not, so it was odd for anyone else to remain awake as often and be as owl-like as him.

While the second-born son of Odin was trying to get his bearings, there was an exchange between Volstagg and Fandral, but he cared little for whatever trifle things that they shared in a range that all the Aesir in the room could hear.    

How did he had _not_ noticed another person present was beyond him. The young man was not _that_ smashed. Although it seemed that the grasp of the black-hole of sleep still held him tightly, he was groggy. In the small space that he occupied there was shifting behind him and he quickly turned to inspect it. With a loud hiss he instantly pressed himself to his older brother, clutching the man’s upper-arm as if for dear life. It made the other shift his head in an awkward angle and he observed through the corner of his eye to see what was the commotion all about. The younger did not notice but the blue orbs lit up in mirth.

The third sleeper of the bed was Lady Sif and she was moving into an upright position. The God of Lies was disgusted with the very idea that _that_ woman had been so near him and he was unaware of it. Of all the inhabitants of Asgard, it just had to be _her_. This was **unacceptable**! Him and her in the same bed was beyond infuriating, it did not matter that she was just _sleeping_ beside him. The idea of the _other kind_ of sleeping involving the warrior female and he – had never even crossed his mind, for if it had he would have vomited then and there, if his stomach would have been empty – he would have thrown up the very acids of it. The Godling was not exactly sure what had crossed between them, but this animosity ran from deep childhood and it was mutual, however it had not been initiated by him.

The warrior-goddess scoffed at his threatened snake imitation. Completely ignoring him, she removed from herself the big blanket, which had covered them all and rose from the outspread sofa. She was the only of the now conscious duo who was still with her full garb of yesterday. Minus the leather and metal armor of course, although she wore it more often than not – such casual setting did not require it.  

His reaction was noticed by the previously conversing warriors. They did not find it strange, it was no secret to them that Loki and Sif could not stand each other’s guts, however it didn’t bother anyone.

The round man was quick to ridicule the mischievous Prince.

“Found yourself in a tight situation, eh Silver Tongue?” the note of amusement was more than tangible.  

The Lie God hissed again and pressed himself to the older God even more. His hand still retained a bruising grip, as if the elder Heir could save him from the abhorred Lady. The Storm God was shaking in guttural laughter, trying not to laugh out loud.

“I would rather sleep beside Thor!” his slouched shoulders and narrowed eyes, which watched the retreating woman warily, created a comical image of a trapped, angry animal.  

The room erupted in vocal mirth. Volstagg’s roaring laugh was the loudest, the Thunder God could have rivaled it, if he were not spasming in muffled laughter. The sole female in the chamber was the only other that was not entertained by the words that the Trickster had sneered. She was indifferent and continued with the intention of leaving the room. Without a word, Sif left, her silence was not unusual at all.

The Dark God was still all in glares to the door that she had left through. His mood seemingly ruined beyond repair, he was still too shaken by the indescribable disgust. The mirth had died down. Everyone except him was in good spirits.

The red-haired Asgardian sought to make fun of this occurrence once more.

“So, who’s the maiden in this relationship?” he joked.

Loki was brought back with the jest. Moving away into the now freer space of the couch, he humored them.  

“Well, if I am to be the wife, then I can do this!” with that he promptly kicked Thor out of the “bed”.

The kick was sharp but it was not something that could ever faze the Golden Prince. He tumbled down from the short sofa and the thud was muffled by the plush carpet. The display garnered a few more chuckles from the two warriors present in the room.

The Storm God got on all fours. With one hand he rubbed at his eyes, still having a hard time keeping both open due to the brightness of the chamber, with the other he blindly searched for something on the small oval table, which was situated beside the couch he had previously occupied, but was so unceremoniously kicked out of. He wore a pair of trousers that resembled the kind one wore to sleep. This mystified the younger brother, when had he, in that heavily intoxicated state, managed to change?

Fandral had already stood up and was inspecting his appearance in a mirror that was incorporated into one of the buffets, uncaring that most of the view was obscured by the fine porcelain dishes and trinkets it housed.

The God of Deceit took hold of the end of the couch that Sif had rested on and effortlessly lifted it up. Pressing his back into the transformed sofa he threw his hands over the edge and assumed a relaxed position. The space of the seat now halved, his bare legs were uncovered by the thick blanket and he used his older sibling like a footrest. Of that the other male seemed to be utterly uncaring.

Comfortably situated the God of Lies listened to the resumed conversation. By what Volstagg said, he gathered the actual time. His previous assumption had been that it was morn (and he was upset by this, who ever woke anyone after an all-nighter so early?), but the fact that it was just half passed the eighth hour was an insult, a heavy one at that.

The Crown Prince was still seemingly completely immersed in his unfocused search of the contents of the table. No one noticed how he grasped the underside corner of the couch. Without paying any attention he flipped it as if it weighted no more than a feather. To anyone who did not know the royal Asgardian’s strength, it would have looked impressive.

The God of Trickery had not expected the action. His legs hit the wall with a splat and then he crumpled to the wooden floor. No curses were heard from behind the upturned piece of furniture.

Both the man guilty for their early waking and the one ogling into himself saw the brunet fly and hit the wall. That inspired a grin on both of their faces. The blond warrior even turned around and ceased looking at the reflection, which the obscured mirror offered.

Thor continued as if nothing was amiss, still in search from his position on the carpeted ground.

From beyond the sofa a projectile – a pillow – was tossed. It was tampered with by the God of spell-weaving, made to be as heavy as lead. Without fail it hit the God of Thunder squarely into the back of his head. As the cushion bounced back it landed as lightly and as innocently as it should, already returned to a state of normalcy. The highborn man clutched his head.

“DAMN IT!!! WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!?!” the roar was so loud that it was surely heard by half of the palace.

The sheer loudness made every person in the room (especially those who were suffering from harsher aftermaths of drinking) cringe and wince. Only the one who had let out the horrifyingly loud scream was blissfully oblivious to the volume of it (he had other worries).

The Trickster God stood up from behind his ‘barricade’. He appeared to be completely unfazed by the billowing shout. The blanket surrounded him and he walked as if dressed in the finest ceremonial robes. A few steps later the Master of Magic stopped and exhaled a breath, which morphed into a transparent, green-tinted bubble. As it floated away the sorcerer pressed his hands over his ears in an attempt to dilute the sound that he knew was sure to come. Both warriors that were watching the brotherly ‘war’ understood by the gesture that this would not bode well.

The Storm God was completely ignorant of the orb until it popped beside his ear. From inside an equally loud screech burst forth, the venomous shout held his younger sibling’s voice.

“SHUT UP THOR!!! MAY I REMIND YOU THAT YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY ONE HERE WITH A HEADACHE!”

The effect was instantaneous. Dizzied the one that got the greatest vocal torture clutched his continuously abused head even tighter. He curled into fetal position on the carpet.

The other two males were also shaken by the outburst, Fandral even shook his head – as if that could help himself be rid of the intensified migraine.

The magician was pleased with himself, his smugness was apparent to everyone. He easily righted the upturned sofa and situated himself in the middle, tucking his feet under himself and wrapping the cover tighter around. It was a strangely hot day, but after spending several hours in overbearing warmth, he felt chilled. The fact that one of the aspects of a hangover to him were cold shivers did not help at all.

The younger Heir did not care that the older was convulsing just beside him on the floor. And serves him right, he would be fine a couple of minutes later anyway.

Sometime later Volstagg made a suggestion, which concerned something he cared most about – food.

“So, shall we head to have some breakfast?”

The God of Mischief did not oppose the idea, although to the gutsy man it was probably already elevenses (meaning the eleventh breakfast in Volstagg’s dictionary). Everyone agreed with the offer, Thor was already recovered (both in body and pride), he perked up at the idea. The firstborn of the Allfather adored food and feasting, but not as much as the one who had made the suggestion.

Despite wholeheartedly agreeing the Cold Weapons’ Master of the Warrior Three – excused himself to take leave. He promised that he would join later, but the observant, sitting God was sure that that would not be the case. The morning priorities of the (in)famous womanizer were not the same as Loki’s (such as bathing, dressing or eating). Clearly being deprived as Fandral was, he headed straight to get into some female’s skirt, seeking _warmer_ places. The basic meditation pose upholding boy-prince refused the urge to scoff aloud.

Once the one curled on the rug got over his plight completely, he rose to find his clothes and dress for the day. His search of the small, oval table beside the couch was forgotten.

The God of Deceit remained in his position because he had nothing better to do, so he simply waited. The remaining warrior was also valiantly trying to wait for his leader and friend (and Loki) to get ready to join for the meal. The seated God saw how Volstagg’s resolution wore thin as the minutes trickled by. He was shifting from foot to foot, battling his hunger as best as he could. However some fraction of the ‘great war’ was lost and he sat in one of the moderately small armchairs, being aware that the Princes could take their time in getting ready.

The firstborn Heir had managed to locate his discarded sleep-shirt and was dressing without much haste. He was still in the process of doing so when softly the door to the chamber opened. For the person who entered, there was no requirement of knocking (and it wasn’t like the room was anyone’s personal quarters anyway). The fact signaled to the God of Lies that it was definitely not a servant. He was proven correct because it was the Queen of Realm Eternal.

Her first words were spoken in her usual, delicate tone accompanied by a soft smile.

“Good morning”

The large redhead greeted her first, the greeting was correct etiquette wise. Frigga simply waved it in a wordless way to in inform him that it was unnecessary, her expression unchanging all the while.

Her sons returned the gesture casually and in chorus – saying ‘morning’ in different volumes and tones, she found the simultaneous response to be adorable.

“This place is a mess” she remarked. “You are lucky that your father is currently away or you would be in trouble!” came the playfully spoken warning.

The oldest child wasn’t fazed, while the youngest doubted that the King would care for what they did – as long as it was not (publically) disgraceful, but he did not oppose her words.

The blanket wrapped boy-prince had instantly taken notice of his mother’s garb, the only other that did as well was the male not of highest royal blood. Said man looked surprised by it (but not uncomfortable), the Lie God briefly wondered how many times had the axe-wielder seen the great Goddess like this, it would have been accounted as high familiarity.

She was clearly still in her nightclothes and that may have seen extremely strange to anyone, but then the younger Prince remembered that there had been some sort of small feast last night (so meager that it did not require the presence of the Ruler), therefore nearly everyone, servants included, were still in bed. It was her dome anyway, she could do as she pleased (well not really, still, walking directly to her children without being seen was quite appropriate).

If not for the lightness and ankle-length of her nightgown, one could have believed this to be an actual gown (someone unfamiliar with the garb of royalty would not have seen any difference at all). It was cream colored and from some sort of material that resembled a hybrid between satin and silk. Over the nightdress there was a semitransparent robe, the hue was of onyx and it had elaborately painted red roses with green leaves and other small, colorful flowers depicted on it. The cloak was loosely tied. The Queen did not look disheveled in any sense: her hair tied in a fashion meant for sleep, yet the braid was without a hair out of place and looked just as impressive as an ornate chignon; her clothes without a wrinkle on them; face void of any reserved paint but looking fresh and well-rested. This was not an image either of her boys were unaccustomed to, therefore they cared not that she went to check-up on them first thing without prepping herself like a woman of her stature should. The powerful female wanted to see her two younglings and that was that.

Frigga was looking about the room with conservative curiosity and she studied the Golden Throne successors. Soon she was involved in a very mundane conversation with Volstagg, which consisted of inquiries about rest, the feast and etcetera.

Loki had managed to get over the extreme temperature sifting that he had experienced this morning and so he abandoned the thick blanket. He was no longer plagued by a deficit of warmth, however the hangover (more accurately the lack of sleep) induced cold tremors were still present, but well hidden. The young man strutted into the center of the room clad only in a sole, tight, black undergarment. He could be flamboyant and that came as no surprise to anyone who knew him enough.

The elder Goddess was quick to spot her nearly naked son marching confidently. She had already gathered from the chatty warrior that they were planning on getting a meal, so she asked her second child.

“You are going to breakfast dressed like that, Loki?”

He flashed her a charming grin while looking at the woman over his shoulder.

“Why, yes”

She shook her head softly and chuckled – the sound was refined.

“Are you planning on scaring the maids? You are going to give them an eyeful” she chided lightly.

“That was not on my mind, not at all. But now that you have mentioned it, mother... maybe” the Trickster’s words were followed by another grin – this time it was very mischievous. In all honestly he enjoyed startling servants, but his ‘outrageous’ behavior (no matter what it was) was not meant to appease and drive into lustful abandon the female workers of the palace. The God of Mischief was not interested in getting between their legs, not before and certainly not now. The very idea that his state of (un)dress was believed to have been spurred on by _ulterior motives_ was snorting worthy. Besides there would not be a soul present in the kitchens or the hallways anyway.

Once again came the shaking of her head from Frigga. She knew that there was no hope in convincing him but she would not leave it like this. So she approached the smirking Godling, her step was graceful – she appeared to be gliding above the floor level. She removed her robe and draped it over the shoulders of the tall childe, then she kissed his cheek.

The Queen tuned to leave and then tilted her head to address her boys.    

“Be good now”

The younger replied by showing off his pearly whites and the elder issued a toned down on the enthusiasm (due to the man’s state this morn) agreement.

With a proper farewell from Volstagg, which she returned, the powerful Goddess left the room.

Without paying any attention the God of Deceit began putting on the dark robe and tying it loosely. His brother barked a laugh and the warrior cracked a grin.

“You are going in _that_?” the Golden one asked, referring to the womanly cloak.

The Heir in question issued the same grin he had to his mother and answered in an affirmative.

“Yes, but of course”

* * *

 

The trip to the nearest kitchen was uneventful. None found it strange that the vicinity was void of any presence.

The two Princelings were not too royal-bred to completely reject the idea of gathering or even preparing a snack on their own. Even if the whole preparation could have been counted as diminishing to someone of their status, the thrill of doing so uncaught was too good to refuse. They could have called upon servants – that was their right, but such would take a long time and knowing that the God of Thunder always preferred eating with his friends – thus would have been impossible. The food-loving man would definitely have scampered off by then to find a quicker feast, and the task of finding the others would have been stolen away by the dealings with the cooks.

Seemingly from nowhere the Master Magician produced a bottle obviously filled with some strong drink. Thor eyed it with a sickness present in his orbs.

“You have got to be kidding me. You are not planning on drinking that now, are you?”

The Dark Prince demonstratively took a big swing of the transparent liquid – it was taffel.

“Feeling queasy, brother?” his emerald eyes held a taunting smirk in them.

The reply was an undignified snort.

This kitchen was a rather small one, consisting only of one moderately sized room and a single pantry that stored some of the products used in cooking.

It was clear that someone would have to go gather all of the supposed breakfast eaters, while everyone else would busy themselves with gathering or preparing the actual meal.

The God of Lies was lingering behind the counter, which was cluttered from both sides with high stools. The space was limited and he just stood there leaning over the countertop, he was still too interested in his bottle that contained alcohol. He had brought it not because he wanted to annoy his sibling or because that was his way of keeping his hangover at bay. No, he was difficult – actually probably impossible, to get drunk, and last night was not enough. He was used to consuming large quantities of graded beverages. They carried faux relaxation with them.

The drinking God had unknowingly put himself in a trap, his position in the cooking area made him an easy target for the request. The Storm God looked at him wistfully.

“Cold beetroot soup would be nice...” he tried hinting subtly.

The youngest male narrowed his eyes. He knew why that was the other’s choice – it was a well-known remedy of quelling the aftermaths of a strong drink involving celebration, however the elder Heir failed to cover the tracks of what he was suggesting. Besides the younger had no need for that certain food – nor did he fancy it.

“Fine, I will make it. But you will owe me big time” he agreed begrudgingly, he would force someone to aid him in this anyway.

The face of the oldest child of the most powerful Aesir in all of the Nine, became alit.

“Excellent! I will go gather our friends then”

No sooner than the words left his mouth, Fandral had entered the room. There were jolly greeting-agains and the one behind the bar cared for none of it. He idled taking gulps of the taffel and observing the one that got back. The returned blond was freshly dressed and his hair was combed to perfection. Even if the Lie God had not known where the warrior had been, then the slight declination of his collar would have been enough of a giveaway.

Truly, that was a short... detour, and for a God no less. He really didn’t have a solid comparison except for himself, and he enjoyed long loving. It made no sense to him to cut that short and be quick, he intended to always take his time with Sigyn. Did that make him childish or selfish, to extend the pleasure to the very boundary of his capacity – he did not care. Quality over quantity was his view on these kinds of _events_. No matter how deprived of _her_ touch he would be, desperately and hastily rutting like animals in heat – was not something he wanted to experience, ever. The God of Mischief wrinkled his nose in distaste – he was a Prince, not some filthy commoner! Acting like some lust-stricken creature would make the act empty, he believed that the strange mutual connection they shared, which doubly heighted the pleasure, would simply be unattainable if the situation was not right. No, even if his lover were accessible to him now, he still would not envy the ‘gallant’ one.

The Thunder God was easily sidetracked, and so his interest was utterly stolen by the male that had joined them in the bright kitchen. While thus occurred the God of Deceit was not in a hurry to turn his promise into reality. Agreeing to prepare a meal was not lowering, it wasn’t rare that he did seemingly unimportant tasks (even if those, on the battlefield, were actually quite valuable and lifesaving). He lingered uninterested, hearing the conversation but having no wish to be part of it.

Not much latter Lady Sif herself decided to ‘grace’ them with her presence. She pointedly ignored the second-born Heir, nor did she look (not even scornfully) at his strange garb (or lack of it). Estimating by the time it was obvious that she sought them out with ease. Going directly to these kitchens and no other place. Like a trained hound she found them (clearly led by Thor’s scent).

It was no secret – her intentions towards the Golden boy, they were as old as the days of his childhood. Loki wrinkled his nose in distaste, over his dead body would that ever come to be. It was in the best interests of everyone (or just his) that the relation between his brother and her would remain just as that of friends. However that was not all that difficult to upkeep, since his sibling was as oblivious as ever. If at any time that would change – he would interfere immediately (he did care greatly for his brother’s wellbeing and a change in _that_ relationship would definitely be hazardous). If need be he would act like a cockblock (all for the good of the Thunderer), although he doubted the possibility of that ever happening (much to the warrior-woman’s displeasure). Still he kept the drunkenly semiconscious/unconscious older Godling under his close supervision. Oh and that harpy had tried to get her claws all over the man when he was like that, but the dark-haired boy-prince was always there to thwart her plans. He contemplated whether the Crown Prince could even _perform_ in such a state, shaking his head he thought that it was better not to know.

The Storm God was not detained for long (much to the dislike of the God of Lies, he did not wish to cook, but seeing his blood-kin showing disability to concentrate was more annoying than cooking). Since the firstborn could not even fathom having their band lacking a person, he excused himself in order to go look for Hogun. The God of Trickery thought that sometimes the warrior did not wish to be part of these gatherings. Truly the man was elusive when it came to cracking his character, but the God of Mischief reckoned that such a grim, disciplined person would not want to participate often in their frequently silly antics and parties. Yet Thor would insist until there was no way to back out.  

The Godling lounged on one of the stools behind the counter. His legs were propped upon one of the stoves, hands outstretched on the bar. He turned his head as his brother was passing him. He quickly managed to sway the older into causing a little mischief. Their banter had been playful so it left no ill will and the elder Heir had regained his good spirits, it was easy to manipulate him. The Trickster God’s infectious grin overtook the other with ease and in no time their expressions mirrored one another’s.

The God of Thunder exited the open-spaced kitchen, he left not through the door they had entered it, but through the archway that led into the east side of the palace. The corridor was not an indoor one, it was separated by a fine marble balustrade and an impressive arcade. The view was the same as through the floor-length windows of the kitchen – that of one of the inner gardens. The plant-life was beginning to transform into its greatest phase. Alas neither of the wonders, created by the best of gardeners, down below or the ones hanging in pots above, interested the royal man. He had a mission.

For one who was not familiar with the layout of the Golden fortress it would have seemed illogical – the various kitchens littered throughout or the fact that the servant rooms were not all in one insignificant wing of the dome. For greater efficiency certain chambers were scattered, therefore just below where the Crown Prince was threading were the rooms of some of the palace workers, gardeners most possibly.

Today the heart of Asgard seemed deserted. The servants were slacking and it was so because the Ruler was absent. Now that would not do, the strolling male thought. He could understand his younger sibling’s motives behind the suggestion, such lazying was unbefitting in the house of Odin. Yes, there was indeed a need for a wakeup call. And so he shouted in the billowing volume of his voice a ‘good morning!’ knowing full well that it would not only rouse the workers but also cause plenty of headaches.

The loudness of the shout was truly impressive and probably scared quite a few birds out of their trees, the sound was not unfamiliar to that of the crack of a thunder. But it was easier and more merciful this way – to yell, then to create and catch thunder with his bare hands, additionally with a roof overhead or while leaning over the balcony. That could do too much damage to the architecture (as well as singe his palms). Thor was not yet capable of controlling the element so fully without the aid of a certain amplifier, the best would be Mjolnir, and he knew that. After the vocal outburst his no less silent laughter followed.

Everyone in the kitchen heard the shout due to the great acoustics, it was indeed very loud. The sprawled God was uncaring whether the warriors were disapproving of it or whether they were amused. He was certainly in the category of the latter. The billowing greeting of the morning had caused so much _delicious agony_ to so many. The second Heir’s next action was born not from that, but more from the fact that he wanted to annoy the warrioress. She deserved it because of her major transgression – the great terror that she had caused him by daring to slumber beside him.

He tilted his head back and slowly and demonstratively dragged his hand down the defined muscles of his abdomen, the tie of the cloak had loosened and fallen lower so it did not hinder the motion. Like befitting of the one that pretended to god-over chaos he purred out his words simultaneously while tracing the hand on his lower stomach.

“That agony...” the God of Deceit acted as though he got off of this sort of thing, as if torturing innocent creatures in this way caused him pleasure.

Now, Lady Sif was not amongst those that were heavily displeased with the situation, her displeasure was all due to his behavior rather than his brother’s. She did not say anything but that snort of disgust was audible. He knew what she thought of him and it was eons passed the point where he was bent on proving someone wrong, especially her.

Loki half-expected her to vocalize her revulsion with him and his antics, but she probably assumed it to be beneath her. He heard her turn on her heel and walk away. The Goddess slammed the door so hard, with much more force than her slight frame indicated to be in her possession. The hit actually vibrated through the room and the power behind it was so unexpected that it made him tumble down from his elegantly sprawled position.

No laughter followed but it would not have fazed him either way. Following his hard and ungraceful fall to the floor he commented sarcastically more to himself than to the men present.

“Well that was graceful”

* * *

 

Once the eldest son of the Allfather returned with his elusive comrade, the two brothers went to making the meal (coercing the thunderous Godling into helping had been an easy feat). The Golden boy did most of the work on the soup, while ingredients were flying with the magic of the Master Sorcerer, washing themselves and falling into the big bowl all on their own. The others (Sif and Hogun excluded, both were reluctantly but efficiently scouting out the dishes) also helped in preparing a meal.

After the preparations were complete the breakfast took place in the balcony just a few steps from the kitchen. The morning was great and sunny, their position by a small table and in plush chairs was comfortable. The view of the lavish gardens and the warm sun was a definite benefit. The chatter was lively and even the female had managed to get over her affliction with the Lie God. She didn’t comment upon the underdressing of both of the royal males (Thor too was dressed as if for sleep).

Thus was another usual morning for them all, not even the headaches were unusual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lalala~ the Queen's in nightclothes, Princes cooking, Lalala~ I don't care how unbelievable that sounds, well it's not that unbelievable Lalala~ Cold beetroot soup is sometimes consumed as a hangover 'remedy' over here (lalala, didn't care to try and search for something out of somewhere else) – the body needs fluids – doesn't really matter what, mineral water is quite often used as a 'remedy'. Lalala~ This whole chapter is very “Lalala~” I'm not sure whether I like it Lalala~


	21. Planning

**Chapter twenty-one**

**_Planning_ **

 

 

The talk about the trick marriage had died down with time. The gossipers had lost all interest when there were no new details – threads to incorporate into their weave of lies, for even slander more often than not was based on a strand of truth.

Loki had not seen Sigyn in a year. There had been a very short meeting in the very beginning when he had transported her belongings into Vanaheim, where she resided even now. Her things were left in a nearly completely crumpled structure of some kind, it was small and built of white marble or some other similar material. It had no rooms and resembled a nearly wall-less vault, it had columns that wild vines of ivy encircled. Then, he had even called her in a joking tone a ‘cavewoman’ and playfully asked whether she wanted to bury her trinkets like a greedy critter did their precious ‘treasures’.

The God of Lies had been heavily burdened with his princely duties and under heavy supervision. It was truly a long time until he was completely let off the hook, only then when he was sure of it – did the young man allow himself to visit his lover. When even Heimdall could not be bothered with watching him did he plan to leave for his ‘studies’. A trip as such was treated like all of the others and he knew that his presence would not be missed. He had served his punishment and more, so his father forgot about his existence enough for him not to be missed or be treated like a danger to the honor of the house of Odin.

A year in the life of a God was not the same as it was for a mortal. However one could have believed a ‘newlywed’, such as him, to be sickened with longing, the Godling himself did half-expect that to be the case. But he did not miss his ‘wife’ the way he should have. Yes, her presence was needed but it did not befall his mind like lead and was not often within his thoughts, therefore he functioned as was his norm – efficiently. The time had passed to him like a single summer, one full of summertime sadness and child’s discontent at unceasing rain, which hindered the outdoor games. But it was just that and he felt as if their separation and farewell was that of children. It was as though they were strangers to grieving the time lost and when the time came to say goodbye, they simply waved to each other, turned away and skipped without looking back – just like kids did.

The Heir did not know what to make of this – the fact that he and she could simply go back to living their lives. Or why he was not burdened by doubt and jealousy, and fret. He simply trusted her – unconditionally, it was a first in his long yet short life. The God of Mischief never trusted anyone so thoroughly, this had scared him at times, others – he just felt content and assured. Did all of this make their relationship juvenile or mature, he was not aware and did not care. It was most possibly not the latter, from what could be observed in Asgard, the Prince summarized that couples married for long grew into uncaring, their relation would always turn cold, completely unlike to what the two younglings had between them. They were not indifferent to one another or their affairs, they were uncaring of the distance and not each other. Their lack of burning physical need was also not born from the absence of passion, they had plenty of that and, strangely or not, but for the lovers – joining their bodies meant more than just pleasure. What he shared with the Goddess was not love, no, what Aesir understood as love was either childish or lewd in his opinion, what was between them was more than that – the silver tongued male simply did not know a word for it.

And he referred to what he felt as what _they_ felt, it was as if he knew for certain that she felt and thought the same. The God did not think so because of their bond, strong as it was it did not dictate this opinion – knowledge, or at least he believed it to be so. Describing his emotions as if they were shared – came from some peculiar knowledge within his brain and he did not worry about it. If the Lady felt any different than him concerning this situation he would know when he’d see her again. Wisely his mind claimed that a problem should be solved when it arose and not when it was abstractly conjured and fretted about.

* * *

 

Their greeting was not lustful, although they shared an inappropriate kiss, to them it was tender in essence. The Trickster God did not know whether his woman had gotten stronger in understand the connection that was between them or was it simply her Vanir intuition heightened by her stay in Vanaheim, but she appeared to have expected him for he did not catch her by surprise. Once she laid her now amber eyes (always so indecisive in their coloring) upon him, a brilliant smile lit her face. It felt as if a huge burden had fallen from his shoulders, one that he was not even aware of carrying. And her expression inspired a certain tranquility inside him that the boy-prince had unknowingly been missing.

They quickly took to resting against a monstrous tree. The Lie God was reclining into the giant while the girl rested her head just above his knee. One of her legs was bent, while the other was turned in an awkward angle, however it was evident that she was very comfortable.

It was midsummer, but despite it being day, the weather was reminiscent of a cool summer evening. That was not strange at all, the temperatures in her heim-realm were lower than in Asgard. The Dark Prince was susceptible to changes of weather unlike an Aesir: oppressing heat made him ill and woozy, while cold sometimes was so inviting that he could have been thrown naked into snow and been completely fine with that. Despite these reactions he often wore heavy clothing in the hot seasons, while the same garb was supposed to be much too little for the cold ones – and that apparently did not extend to him. He was used to these things now, they weren’t as bothersome as they had been in his early childhood. The lounging God could have worn something of his usual choices, however he chose a light, signature green tunic and black leather breeches with same colored boots.

He observed the female’s dressing on this pleasantly windy day. Her garb wasn’t usual and he had never seen her like this. She wore a simple sleeveless turquoise blouse, there was nothing special about it: no embroidery or painted depictions, no lace or fancy trimmings. The only thing that made it not conservative was its neckline, which if her position would not be raised, would show of a hint of her cleavage. However it was not the top that was the most peculiar, it was the bottom. The girl-woman wore trousers, plain and dark grey, they hugged her legs tightly. It was exceedingly rare to witness a female in such, it was considered quite unfitting for one to wear. Then there was Sif but she was a warrioress and in Realm Eternal that was most possibly a one-of-a-kind thing. No matter the fact that said Lady was often dressed practically, it was only so because she was often ready for action and her training was extensive. Although whenever she was relaxed of such she never, under any circumstances, would be caught in trousers – fine gowns were her choice. The warrior-goddess was more feminine (even heavily so) than she could have appeared in first glance. While such breaches of dressing code were frowned upon, Loki was immune to such prejudice.

It was something new to see Sigyn in this getup, but the difference was appreciated. She looked no less lovely now than when she was in a bright dress. The way she held herself made him assume that this was very natural for her, perhaps even more than wearing elaborate and revealing gowns. His love appeared very comfortable and confident, not at all akin to a fish out of its bowl. The observing one noted that she wore teal slippers instead of her usual high-heels. She did not seem to mind the borderline chill day, she was not dressed too lightly though.

“I ‘ave missed you” her tone was casual, but her words held no less of an emotional impact. The young woman gazed at him and he did not dare to look away.

“And I – you” he replied equally calmly.

And with that the man expected this talk to end, however their usual light and careless topics did not begin. The Vanir still had questions she wanted him to answer. The conversing he wished for was yet to be attained.

“How long will you be here?”

“A few weeks at least. Maybe a month or several, I cannot say yet. I have been truly let off my leash now, I made sure of that before I asked for a trip for seeking of ‘knowledge’ to be allowed”

She smiled.

“That will do... for now”

He could not help but grin at her response.

“What had happened when you returned to Asgard?”

The Deceiver had no reason to lie, so he told his Goddess what punishment had been given to him. She listened attentively. He did not understand why but his heart was squeezed in an iron grip when he saw concern flash in her eyes, it was strange to be... cared for so _strongly_. The next emotion she displayed and expressed in heated words he appreciated as well. The Lady was angered that the Allfather had _dared_ to harm what was _hers_. The young God felt pride at her possessiveness and that it was directed at him – was all the more sweet. From all the beings of the Universe she was the only one he did not oppose belonging to.

“And so then, to ensure that our bloodline would not be disgraced, because you are _so_ like your mother” the sarcasm was evident in the voice of the God of Deceit. “He gave you the title ‘Goddess of Fidelity and Bonds’, meaning that you cannot be unfaithful and that you cannot break any vow. And you cannot lie also”

The girl looked insulted and unimpressed, she snorted.

“Bollocks. I can still lie and do whatever I want”

Her vulgarities did not disgust his royal tastes, if anything the highborn male found it attractive – her disrespectful manner of speaking. It was one of the traits that added spice to her unique persona. And he was like a treasure hoarding dragon, guarding his priceless trinkets, and Sigyn was his crown jewel, the apple of his eye.

She took her new ‘gifted’ positions as a challenge, there was no way that those things could limit her abilities to deceive and betray. So the young woman began telling lies, as if to prove to her love that she could still spew nonsense (although he really did not believe that his father’s command had touched her).

“I’m dressed in blue”

The God of Lies interjected and raised an eyebrow in question.

“But you are”

“My blouse is turquoise, that’s not the same. Now shush”

He rolled his eyes at the correction thrown his way.

“My eyes are green--”

Her eyes _could_ be green, they changed color constantly. How could that count as a lie? However he thought better than voicing that aloud, he continued listening to the words she spilled quickly.

“--It is nighttime. The sky is red. Birds can’t fly. My mother is a virgin--” at that his stomach did flips in silent laughter.

“I loathe travelling. I want to never go outdoors. I love gold. Oh, and I don’t like you” she smiled at a job well done, everything she said was not true. Looking up at the Godling smugly she noticed that he was smirking down at her.

It was her last comment that he enjoyed most, everything was a lie – so she admitting to liking him. Not that the God of Trickery had doubted that, not at all, but it stroked his self-loving whenever she said or did something that showed how much his Princess loved him. He had to remind himself that they were married, so technically even if her royal position inherited by blood was void in Realm Eternal, then by matrimonial union – she now shared the Asgardian title with him, fully.

“Sooooo, I can still lie”

“It would appear so, yes. Perhaps the Allfather’s words are not to be taken on that aspect so literally” the boy-prince countered, his gaze playful.

She did not seem to notice that he was throwing this out very playfully, however her reply was not venomous.

“ _On that aspect?_ Funny, I do not feel like I am somehow unable to betray someone or lay with another, aside from yourself” her arms were crossed in defiance, tone confident.

“Can you now?” he purred and leaned closer to her. “And how are you going to prove that theory?” it was a game and he was not serious, jealousy was not tormenting him. Maybe... a little...

“ _Oh please_ , now that I have been introduced to how pleasurable a man can be, I’ve just run off to fuck with a hundred. Cut the crap. You know I haven’t slept with anyone and I am not planning to”

“Ah, but there is no way for me to know that you had not” the God of Mischief wanted to see how much he would have to push to anger her. He adored her anger, when she simmered in raging fire he always wanted to ravish her. Why, she looked so positively unimpressed now that he wanted to smother the female with kisses.

“Well I am sure that you could tell” instead of the level of anger that he wanted to witness, the Throne Heir was presented with an odd claim.

“And how could I deduce that? Pray tell”

It seemed that he was exquisitely ruffling her delicate feathers and a rosy blush tinted her cheeks. The woman turned her head to the opposite direction and answered through ground teeth.

“Well, I’m _sure_ that you can tell the difference. My _tightness_ has remained unchanged”

Oh, that was what she was going on about.

He leaned down even closer to her, loving the way she was fidgeting and was so, so embarrassed. Although there were holes in her theory.

“ _Mmmm, yes that_. But that could only be true if you had intercourse recently”

The female Vanir’s gaze was not directed at him but he noticed how her eyes flashed open when he dared to dissect the topic. She had expected him to drop it. He continued with pointing out everything wrong with that thesis.

“I have not been with you enough to create a basis, however it was just a few days between the times we have made love. Then the _tightness_ of your _core_ had not changed. I cannot say whether that is a natural state of your body or whether _frequent loving_ would change that. Therefore that theory cannot be valid if you would have been intimate with someone a while ago, and it has been a year. So there is no way that I could tell” the young man stopped looming over her and returned to reclining against the tree. “Besides” he waved his hand dismissively “It is you that could tell whether I had been with someone”

The young Lady turned around and lifted her head off his legs, though she still remained draped over them.

“And how would I do that?” she sneered at his outrageous claim, was he mocking her? Uuuh, he had her full attention now. “Unless you have taking a liking in taking things _into_ yourself, there’s no way I could tell whether you’ve been with someone or not”

Loki narrowed his emerald orbs. Oh, that minx! Her boldness made him want to do things to her... Naughty things... Sigyn naked and squirming beneath him – yes, that was a delicious picture indeed.

“It is you who has said that you felt my essence to be _pure_ and afterwards it to be laced with _yours_ ”

She snorted.

“That was a _feeling_ , something _ethereal_. What I offered you is something physical”

The God shifted and the girl let out a sound of complaint for losing a comfortable place. He removed his legs from beneath her and placed his hands on either side of her head, hovering over her.

“So maybe I should plunge into your _heat_ and feel for myself how _tight_ you are, little Sigyn” the sentence was a purr “But before that, I will make you squirm, squirm hard” he licked his lips demonstratively, yet she didn’t seem intimidated by the playful threat. The Trickster had never done that intentionally, it was means of preparation in order to make their joining lack its uncomfortable effect on her beautiful physique. Alas now her audacity was riling him up to do so, just to make her writhe in pleasurable discomfort. He would be lying if he would have claimed that he did not like her reactions to his pre-loving games.

Still the woman wasn’t flushed in embarrassment at his promise. Her expression was smug as if she knew something that he did not.

“This time it won’t be me who will be beneath, it will be _I_ who will be on _top_. You will be the one squirming and afterwards I’ll ride you into oblivion, _big boy_ ”

The God of Lies growled. It was an animalistic sound, perhaps the ability to produce such was to be attested to his shapeshifting gift. If she was suggesting what he thought she was, then he had no affliction with her dainty little hands as she did with his long fingers or tongue. The royal male did not think it wrong to have her hands pleasuring him like _that_ , while the bold female was reduced to an attractive, embarrassed, tiny mess when he pleasured her without uniting their bodies.

“Truly, you must be jesting. I do not squirm.” he responded seriously.

“Sure of yourself aren’t you, Mischief? We’ll just have to see how right you are”

The Prince of Asgard chuckled as he pulled away into his former position by the plant-giant. Reclining into the tree he offered.

“You are welcome to try, love”

The Princess claimed his legs again as her resting place.

“Don’t worry, I will. And I _will_ succeed”

* * *

 

Their conversation was jumpy and the Godlings discussed everything and nothing. The Lie God was pressured into telling of what had occurred in Realm Eternal while she was away. It was truly a boring theme, but he did give her a thorough report on the happenings. The Goddess inquired about her baby-sister and he had actually kept an eye over the child, so he was glad to say that she was doing alright. That brightened the Lady’s already bright mood and he prided himself in that achievement.

When talking about Asgard no longer interested her, and the Master of Magic had recounted all the spells he’d learned and perfected, they touched the subject of travelling. Since with the sorcerer’s break they could afford a venture, they began picking the location. Because both younglings were ambitious, their line of thought was about seeing some of the great mysteries of the Nine.

“Will it be surprising if I say that I don’t remember the names of the Norns?” she didn’t wait for his answer as she defended herself “To my credit I have read about them, but the information that was accessible to me was very scarce and muddled”

“It is rare to find something that would not oppose the other sources, yes. And besides I do not think that many have researched the Fate Weavers. The three women are called: Verdandi – she is present, Skuld represents future and Urd – past. It is her well, the Well of Urd – Urdarbrunnr that is told about. It supposedly shows the present, despite her ruling element being the past” he patiently explained. The Heir didn’t mind sharing his knowledge, she listened to him attentively and he liked that.

“And where is it supposedly located?”

“At the roots of Yggdrasill”

“Nonsense, another dead-end. The Unnamed Ones do not like the Norns, so obviously Urdarbrunnr cannot be there. How would Urd use her magical Well if she could not reach it, that doesn’t make any sense”

“So the legends are wrong then” he stroked her hazel hair and the girl-woman appeared to be as content as a cat being petted. “Perhaps you have any idea where it could be located?”

“Sometimes the myths are correct, only that they are in reverse. So if we were to use that theory, then the Well would be not by the roots – but at the highest branch of the World Tree” she had to contain a blissful purr, his hands were magic. No wonder that he was the God of Magic.

“You think that Urdarbrunnr could be in Asgard?”

“And why not? Valhalla and Folkvangr are there, I mean and they are like realms all on their own. It is possible that the Norns reside in Asgard as well”

The Princeling nodded.

“Plausible. But we would not want to travel there now”

“Mhm. So what wells are we left with?”

“Mimisbrunnr – the Well of Wisdom. If the tales are to be believed, then it had belonged to Mimir or at least the Jotunn was its guardian. My father had sacrificed his eye for a sip from that well”

“Had belonged? What happened to Mimir?” the Vanir inquired.

“He was killed, beheaded if you want to be exact. Well, as exact as you can be when talking about legends of old, history is... murky. It is told to have happened during the Aesir-Vanir wars. He was exchanged for a Vanir wiseman – Kvasir, as well as several other people, but it is not mentioned who. It was an attempt at truce, however it is not said why Mimir was beheaded and the war continued”    

“I think I remember, I’ve read about in one of Njord’s books” Loki noticed that his lover no longer referred to the Lord as ‘grandfather’, he didn’t blame her for it. That she knew something about the Well did rouse his interest however.

“Oh, what did the Vanir write about it?”

“The exchange did take place and Mimir was described as wise (his name as I recall was not mentioned, he was just called a Jotunn), however the problem was that he was reluctant to give council. So feeling betrayed and cheated of their great asset, they beheaded him and sent the head back to Asgard. But that’s not all”

“It is not? What more could there be?” the Godling asked. “It was enough reason to continue warring”

“Yes, it was the reason why the wars began anew. That’s not what I meant though. It was written in that history book that the head was sent back to Realm Eternal but it did not end with that. It said that Odin did not throw it away, nor did he bury it. The King of Aesir knew what a treasure he had and so he embalmed it with herbs and used charms to give it life”

“Necromancy does not work that way”

“Shush, I’m telling a story here” she giggled at his correction. He was the Master of Magic and of course he understood the arcane arts more than she, however the magician was so cute when he said that.

The sorcerer smiled down at her.

“Ah, sorry, sorry. Do continue”

“Well, so the Ruler of Asgard did that to make sure that the head could regain the ability to speak”

Not without vocal cords – he thought, but kept the comment to himself.

“He did all that to have the deceased-yet-living Jotunn give council to him and tell secrets about the worlds”

“I do not think that my father has a severed head in his vault” the boy-prince crinkled his nose in distaste.

“‘S possible”

“I wonder if mother knows anything about that...” he said more to himself than to his lover.

“You know, now that I think about it...”

The young man’s gaze returned to the young Lady and she was silent for a moment, appearing to be too immersed in the feeling of his hand sinking through her brown locks. Once she regained control over herself she continued with her spoken thoughts.

“There was a picture of Odin, he was drawn holding Mimir’s head, but he was depicted there with both of his eyes. And then he’s never called the ‘Allfather’ or the ‘God of Wisdom’, just ‘King’ or ‘Odin’. So maybe if we were to take that version, then perhaps your father could have become the God of Wisdom later. Like maybe the Jotunn did not allow him to drink from his Well but rather disclosed its location after his beheading, and only then did Odin gain all his knowledge”

The male shrugged.

“Maybe. But it does not matter, Mimisbrunnr is in Jotunheim and we cannot go to that realm”

“Damn, I’d really like to visit that cold world. Bet real snow is gorgeous”

“You’ve said that before”

“Have I? I don’t remember”

“You have” but not to me, the God of Lies did not feel like saying that though. He just continued stroking her hair, she closed her amber eyes for a minute.

With a gasp he noticed that her hair was changing color – fast. It was turning ruby red. The male remained silent for a moment, _he did that_ – it was his effect on her that made those divine strands change their coloration. The revelation shook him pleasantly – what power he had over the so called Goddess of ‘fidelity’.

She remained oblivious to his labored breathing and shinning orbs, his hands were pleasant though, and kind of distracting.

“Weeeeell, too bad Jotunns aren’t exactly friendly. Anyway, it’s not like either of us wants to become wise”

He managed to get himself out of the stupor when she’d continued talking.

“Is becoming wise such a bad thing? Are we planning on staying foolish?” he asked.

“No, it’s boring. Being silly is fun. I’m insane, I know what I’m talking about” the female grinned, he wanted to kiss her. “So, we’re left with but one well”

“Hvergelmir. Although there are a lot of variations of what it truly is, could be a well as you say or a mother river – ‘whence all waters rise’. The name itself means bubbling, boiling; it could be a spring”

“Marvelous” she commended the perfect choice as well as her lover’s knowledge on the topic. “So where it’s at? Primal Ice Realm, right?”

“Yes, Niflheim” the God of Mischief confirmed the woman’s suspicions.

“Great, no reason not to travel there then”

“Ah, but it is said that Hvergelmir is full of _snakes_ ” Loki playfully warned.

“Good, I like snakes”

The girl was impossible to faze once her mind was set, wasn’t she? He mentally shook his head, indeed it was already decided. The Trickster God had no qualms against venturing in that realm though.

“There is also the dragon within the ‘Well’. It is called Nidhoggr the Villainous, he gnaws at Yggdrasill and devours the corpses of the wicked in Nastrond” the Lie God continued with the game, attempting to frighten the girl.  

“Then let’s go dragon hunting!” she yelled enthusiastically. Although the Heir knew that she was merely joking, hunting dragons was serious business.

“Besides” the Vanir female continued “How can the beast be in Niflheim and in the Unnamed Realms at the same time? Impossible, that’s how! Nastrandir – the Corpse Shores should be in the Unnamed Realm. Although it isn’t even clear whether that’s the place of suffering for those that had done bad things when they were alive. I mean ‘shores’ – that could easily suggest the regions or edges of that world through which the souls of the deceased come or are ferried into the realm”

The green garbed Prince chuckled at her outburst.

“It’s settled then?” Sigyn asked.

“Yes. Any idea how we will find it though?”

“Somehow. Even if we don’t, the trip will be fun either way” she clarified, while not really clarifying anything.

* * *

 

The two lovers had spent the rest of the afternoon being leisurely busy. They had taken walks, rested and of course conversed. The Godlings had shared a delicious supper and then continued with their wandering. Evening would soon fall in Vanaheim.

Their banter had died, however a more serious flame had sparked. Passionate kisses led to their current state. The boy-prince was backed into a tree. It was a familiar position, just the roles were reversed.

The Vanir Goddess was confident and he allowed her to try and make good on her promise – although she would be met with failure.

She was focused into untying the strings of his trousers. The black breeches were truly complimenting his body, hugging the envy-green God’s long legs in an admirable way. The ties were also a beautiful detail, crisscrossed in an imitation of a corset over his crotch, however they could not be undone quickly. The girl wasn’t feeling embarrassment nor was she shy, so she wasn’t fumbling with the strings.

The man found it to be endearing – her battle with his clothing. He couldn’t wait to see the blush over angered features, alas she wasn’t losing her boldness yet. No matter – he thought, she would be flushed once she would set to making her scheme of making him quiver into reality.

Something caught the male’s mind, he remembered something a year old – her words. There was no doubt that they could experience the resonance of physical sensation when they’d join, but perhaps he had a better idea. Something to make this union even more special.

The God of Trickery grasped her hands. The young Lady looked up at him in annoyance. What was his problem now? She wasn’t even doing anything yet and he was already getting antsy?

Her love had a contemplative look on his sharp-featured face. She raised a thin eyebrow in question.

“Sigyn, maybe we should have a ritual now?”

The girl-woman understood what he was saying. Yes, it was a splendid suggestion. They would do just that and it wouldn’t even hinder her plans. She would take him in a domineering position and that would be simply perfect.

The woman grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Term explanations will be short because most of the things written in this chapter are actually part of the Norse mythology and were explained accordingly.
> 
> Urd (past), Verdandi (present) and Skuld (future) – are the Norns.
> 
> Urdarbrunnr (Urd's well), Mimisbrunnr (Mimir's well) and Hvergelmir (bubbling/boiling spring) – are the three mystical wells (water-bodies) that exist in Yggdrasill. All are located at the roots of the World Tree, however because I use a different version of the Norse cosmology (described more fully in the bottom notes in chapter three) – both Jotunheim and Niflheim are not located beside Hel.
> 
> Mimir (the rememberer or the wise one) – is a Jotunn (or not, depends on the version) that was the guardian of the well of wisdom (Mimisbrunnr), to drink from which and gain ultimate knowledge Odin sacrificed an eye (however that it may have happened after Mimir's beheading is my own imagination). It is also correct that the Jotunn was involved in the Aesir-Vanir wars, being the Aesir exchange for the Vanir wiseman Kvasir – and the rest is correctly written in the chapter (he didn't give council, was beheaded, Odin kept the head and embalmed it so Mimir would give him council and etc).
> 
> The line „whence all waters rise" used to describe Hvergelmir is not my own. It's from Wikipedia or more accurately – the Poetic Edda.
> 
> Nidhoggr (the villainous or malice striker) – is a dragon that resides in Hvergelmir and (or) gnaws at the roots of the Yggdrasill. Also, more accurately to the meaning of his name, he chews on the corpses of the sinful dead in Nastrond.
> 
> Nastrond (plural: Nastrandir) – in Old Norse meaning "corpse shore(s)", a place located in Hel, meant for punishing the guilty in the afterlife.


	22. Ritual

**Chapter twenty-two**

**_Ritual_ **

 

 

Sigyn led Loki by his hand. Evening had set its wings in Vanaheim, the trio of suns were all simultaneously, slowly sinking below the horizon. The sky was beginning to dye itself in crimson. They had arrived, by the looks of it, into some sort of sacrificial grounds, there was a big boulder atop a small hill – it was an altar.

“I had found this place a few months ago. I think that it shall be the perfect place to hold our ritual” the Goddess explained although he had not asked.

“Is this a sacrificial altar?” the Prince of Asgard inquired but he wasn’t perturbed by the idea, if his speculation would be proven to be correct.

“From what I have read, Vanir did do live-sacrifices. Mostly goats were slain as sacrifice to the realm itself. However the places for such rituals did not look like this. I am not quite sure what was the purpose of this one” she shrugged. “But then again, if bloodlines have any meaning here, then I would be royalty. Maybe since I am the only one of my kin who cares for this world, maybe I could be even considered the Ruler of Vanaheim”

He hugged his lover from behind and kissed the top of her head as he interjected.

“The insane Queen of Vanaheim”

The Lady giggled and continued with her previous line of thought.

“If I say that this place suits our purpose, then who can object me?”  

“Well, I surely am not objecting your order, _my Queen_ ” the young man said as he continued to hold the girl.

A moment later they separated and climbed atop the hill. The grass at the middle of the top was scarce and brown earth was visible, it was as if many people still walked here. However that was very doubtable, seeing as the Vanir that resided in this realm were few and far in between (according to his ‘wife’, for most believed Vanaheim to be completely deserted).

Around the altar there were torches placed in a wide circle, they appeared to have been unused for many centuries. Because the God of Magic was not very familiar with the symbols of his love’s ancestors he could not be certain whether these lights truly formed a spherical form. There could have been more of them that actually formed a different kind of sigil – a more intricate one, alas he couldn’t see from this position, it would only be visible from above.

The Godling asked gesturing at the torches.

“Should I light them?”

She shook her head declining his offer to use his powerful magic to bring the eons’ old lights to fire.

“No, they will light themselves when the time is right”

The male did not question how she knew that, he had no reason to doubt her speculations, which for most part proved to be entirely correct.

She led him towards the megalith and he understood what she wanted of him. Because of his height the Throne Heir had no problem sitting on the altar and then scooting further to seat himself well. The female extended her hand to him and he aided her to reach him. She sat in his lap, assuming a comfortable position. As the young woman tried to arrange herself how she liked he observed his surroundings. He was vaguely aware that she had taken his hand into hers, holding it palm up.

The boy-prince frowned to the heavens, it was very strange – their darkness. Not enough time had passed for the three suns to escape over hills and somehow the heavy greyness of the sky did not indicate nighttime either. How peculiar, there was enough light for both of their sights to see everything clearly though. It appeared as though a storm was brewing. Rain was a frequent guest in this odd world and it could hinder their plans. However he had believed that his beloved Vanir could foresee a downpour coming, so perhaps it was simply he who was wrong.

A needle sunk into his forefinger. He hissed.

“Pay attention, Mischief” she chided in playful warning.

“You have all my attention, _Sigga_ ” came his hissy snake-like reply, ended with a pet name of his own forging.

The Lie God peered down to look at his injured finger. There was a small red dot and it wasn’t mixed with black. That vixen! She had prickled him without ink, her reason behind the action was to gain his attention. And he gave it to her, not in order to prevent the Goddess from harmlessly harming him again, but because she was far more interesting than the heavy sky.

She had a small bottle of ink in one of her hands. Before coming to this place they had made a short stop at the ruins she kept her belongings in, there she had taken the same vial she now held, a needle and a pocketknife. The last item was a mystery, but he did not care to question why it was brought, the sharp object did not concern the young God.

Sigyn dangled the bottle filled with dark fluid in front of the Princeling she straddled.

“‘Chant, ‘chant, please” she asked of him to enchant the ink, pleading in a childish tone. He didn’t mind her childish antics, quite the opposite.

The Master of spell-craft took the offered glass container and focused his energy into the liquid within. It was an easy task for him, to make the ink easy to hide – just like they had discussed in the Unnamed Realms. It took the sorcerer only a couple of minutes to finish enchanting and then he gave the bottle back to her.

The girl-woman placed the needle between her teeth and took the vial. She uncorked it and placed the cork in the same hand that held the bottle. His hand still rested on her thigh, palm up. Dipping the metal stick into the dye she set to work on the marking that would resemble a ring. When the ink-dripping needle graced him once more the God of Mischief did not express any discomfort. The little pricks were easy to ignore and he set to watching her work. The thin tool was constantly submerged into the watery substance and then it would give stinging kisses to the pale and tender skin of his forefinger. A black band was quickly beginning to embrace his finger, it was very precise and straight – it appeared that his Princess was gifted with a needle.

At some point watching her toil had become a little too boring for his tastes. The God of Lies was about to say something, but his word was cut off from being fully formed as she realized him to be speaking. She shifted and stopped branding him, placing the ink on the stone at the side nearest to the palm she marred. Two fingers of her hand that was not occupied by the metal stick – were pressed to his mouth. Her irritated glare told him without words – stop talking.

The Trickster God was amused by this but he did not try to utter a thing. Instead of expressing something vocally he opted to annoy her with his actions. As he was leaning on one of his hands, he easily moved away further so that only the tips of her fingers would be touching his lips. The movement caused the pressure on his maw to dissipate and her hand simply lingered midair, ready to be retracted to her side. Having the ability to now manipulate the girl’s digits as he wished, the Prince took her index finger into his mouth.

This startled the concentrating Vanir sitting in his lap, her gaze found his in a blaze. He appeared smug and as he had all of her attention he sucked hard. She did not try to wrench her digit from the wet cavern and responded to his mischievous amusement with an annoyed glare. She was unimpressed and simply turned back to continue inking.

This entertained him for a short time, but when the deficit from the lack of any further reactions set, the Trickster opted to steal some more of the attention he so wanted. He took a second finger into his mouth. They weren’t deep enough to cause him to gag although they were long, compared to the length of her palm, however the hand was tiny itself. Despite taking her middle finger too he was still ignored and that was not the reaction he was trying to garner. Loki strived off of attention, being the center of hers was more than delectable. He continued suckling and began moving his head back and forth without taking her digits with him, thus created a motion that could have been interpreted as very perverse.

The action once more caught the young Lady by surprise, but this time the look she gave him was that of great irritation mixed with anger and minor disgust. The man’s emerald orbs were alit in mirth. He was sure that if Sigyn were male then she would have threatened to make better use of his mouth. The prankster continued with his playing for a few more moments. Afterwards he released her trapped fingers, they fell down to her side and the string of saliva that connected them with his maw was severed.

He remained silent after that, feeling somewhat content with his little display. The woman seemed to be ignoring him pointedly and she returned the vial into her hand that was held captive prior, however it appeared that the mischievous one’s little game had been distracting since she began working faster.

Once the inked imitation of a ring was complete he turned his limb in order to study it. It was a simple shadow and it neither held any patterns nor some other intricacies – it looked just like it was supposed to look.

The ink and the needle were soon presented to the Godling and he set to etch the same mark onto his lover. There were no interruptions to his work, although there were several flinches from the female atop, those really didn’t hinder his precision at all. Sooner than his had been completed he had finished creating the band on her forefinger.

She took the vial from him and placed the tool they’d used for inking inside it. Then she put the stopper back in place and carelessly tossed the glass bottle onto the ground beside the altar. Judging by the sound, the container was quite sturdy as it had not shattered when it met the earth below.

Two dark bands finally held their fingers in a permanent embrace. The Goddess returned the ring he had gifted her onto the abused digit, in sensation it felt as if the serpent bit the fresh wound, but she paid it no mind. She united their lips in a soft and innocent kiss, it was meaningful. The corners of the Asgardian Heir’s lips quirked into a slight smile when his beloved pulled away.

She once again took hold of his marked hand palm up, stroking it in a loving and delicate way. Her other tiny hand reached for her back and from the line of her trousers she removed the pocketknife she had tucked away there. He watched the action curiously amused, guessing at what she intended to do. The idea that she was going to use it to shred his clothing was very thrilling and the boy-prince could only hope that she would allow him to return the favor – because he _really_ wanted to do that. The girl-woman flicked her wrist and the sharp object extended showing its wickedly curved blade. Alas the knife wasn’t heading anywhere near the direction of his clothes, therefore he assumed that that inviting idea was to be used another time.

The sharp blade was brought down onto his palm and he watched as she continued harming his flesh, cutting the soft skin in a single diagonal line. Her intentions were made clear when her hand and the knife were offered to him.

The God purred in satisfaction, how wretched – he was enjoying harming his love. He, just as slowly as she had, gifted her with a similar wound, just in the opposite direction. When the two would meet – they would crisscross. It was not without thought, for his Vanir Princess was a mirror to the Aesir by both body and mind – so seemingly similar and yet in reverse of them, of him.

Blood welled from the wound and bled just as his palm did. It excited him and the Dark Prince was beginning to feel arousal stirring in him. The light sway of her hips into his pelvis only intensified that. He tossed the pocketknife away, somewhere into the trampled grasses. She took his hand into hers tightly, he pressed back. Their bloods touched, mingled and mixed, for eternities they would be tainted by one another. Sigyn kissed him hard and he responded fervently, the God of Trickery wasted no time in pushing his tongue into her mouth. They pulled away tracking each other’s eyes – both pairs green, and only after quick intakes of breath did they continue kissing.

He barely noticed how dark it had become and no later than that thought had entered his mind the torches became alit in a dragon-breath of a flare. The roar quieted down and ebbed into a steady and tiny flame. It was not too dark and combined with the meek lighting of the fire-lit torches – it was more than enough for both to see well. The darkness appeared to have gathered locally and the clouds were churning just above the sacrificial grounds. So close, yet far away. Neither cared to fret that they were in what seemed to be epicenter of a possible storm.

She extracted her hand from his and in gestures willed him to scoot further onto the altar. He did just that, taking her near weightless form with him. The slight declination of the rock was not enough to make them slide down, so he comfortably extended his legs, his position was firm. Briefly he thought about licking the sanguine liquid trickling down her wrist.

The God of Lies understood that soon the main event would begin, he was close to being ready to engage into hours of love making. Once he would change their positions and prepare her for the joining – he would without a doubt be in the needed state. Alas the girl was having none of it and simply powerfully yanked the ties of his breeches loose. Oh, so she was going to try and make true on her promise. The God of Mischief leaned back onto his arms, giving her the much needed space. The uneven texture of the stone dug into his wound but he ignored the stinging sensation.

The woman’s bleeding hand slipped into his trousers and took hold of his hardening length. He tossed his head back at the unexpected sensation and he wasn’t able to fight back the audible groan that escaped him. Her grip was firm and her hot hand was unbearable, the blood, _their_ blood burned his cold skin. It served as a lubricant as her small hand slid up and down. The movement wasn’t slow and it wasn’t fast. When the mischievous one took notice of her expression he growled in irritation. The Vanir meet his gaze triumphantly, with all the air as if she had some sort of winner’s prize in her grasp.

In counted minutes he was painfully hard, but it was not just that, he was beginning to squirm and he was panting. So quickly the resolve had melted away, so quickly had his pride begun to flake. The young man could not keep still. The only thing that stopped him from wrenching her hand away from him – was the crumbling wish to prove her wrong. Alas she knew that she was taking his crown, however he was not willing to back down.

Soon this whole ordeal began to seem wrong, terribly wrong. His lover’s pure, untainted, tiny hands were not meant to handle a man’s parts. And she seemed to know what she was doing, without actually having the necessary knowledge. Appearing smug each time the trembling male beneath lost the battle and shamefully bucked into her dainty and bloody hand. It was exceedingly difficult to bite back the satisfied sounds that threatened to leave the confines of his throat. His limbs quivered from the strain of holding his weight, his legs squirmed in comfortable discomfort, his lungs complained greatly and his swollen hardness was throbbing from the steady, unceasing attention. Since the shapeshifter was having trouble containing his vocal appreciations, he only let out animalistic sounds – hisses and growls as if to warn her away, and neither were working.

Her ability to reduce him to _this_ was hated, it was as if she knew where to press and how to touch to have him near howling from pleasure. Loki knew all of his weak spots from experience of handling himself with his hands and it was not the kind of knowledge instantly achieved. However the female instinctively knew him better than he himself did. He always pleasured himself from necessity, only when his body was very clear on what it needed. He was a God and due to his race combined with a certain feeling he experienced when servicing his uncontrollable physique, he knew well enough that pleasing a woman would not be an unachievable task. Although he always pressed himself for speed, whenever he woke uncomfortably aroused or when his body was simply too adamant about it – he took care of the diminishing task in his bathing chambers. Doing everything to just get it over with as quickly as possible, being mechanical and methodic about it, feeling disgusted at himself each time the royal one was forced to relieve the strain. In minutes, no longer than a half an hour, he would be through with it. While his physical self would be contented, his mind never was. The pleasure was meek, nothing like what joining with the Goddess brought him. But this was definitely more than what he had managed to inspire on his own and he couldn’t handle himself well. Actually making love was a whole different realm: the sensations were a thousand times stronger but there was always concentration, something ethereal, that bond that corresponded within him and quelled him when she climaxed (because he shared her highs) as well as strained him (because his body was capricious). However now there was no goal, so his lustful form only sought release. The pleasure was different and smaller, but newer and impossible to control because something inside him seemed set on the idea that there was no need to deny himself.

She had him where she wanted and how she wanted, and all illusions of control simply faded away. By the telltale tightening in his loins the God of Deceit knew that she was going to break all his records in making him come down from his rapidly approaching high.

He fell into a full-blown panic, all of his shattered pride was tossed aside. The Lie God would spill himself soon into that dainty, innocent (no longer that, really) hand and he had no delusions that he could prevent this from happening. Frantically he tried to tell her that, to warn her, to stop her, he managed to get out no more than a few letters of her name. This could _not_ happen, he _would not_ allow it to happen. He _would not_ finish like this and then gather the shards of his mortally wounded ego, and wait until he could engage into properly loving her (whenever that would be).      

The self-satisfied Lady observed in victorious glee as he squirmed and bucked, she was not a victory bringer for nothing. Silencing the Godling was not difficult, it only required to tighten her hold and he lost his ability to use his silver tongue, he would just throw his head back and let out a loud sound of pleasure that was so similar to that of discomfort or even slight pain. Her hand slid so easily and the wound was bleeding profusely – making it all the more effortless. Sigyn enjoyed the silken skin and the hardness of his quivering length, and how it took so little to have him this out of control. Why, she could even understand why he would enjoy seeing her like this, this embarrassed and flung so far from the comfort-zone.

The powerful and dangerous God of Magic was reduced to this and not by any other but by her. He was blushing hard, she had never seen him this flustered. No, a steely, composed and dominant in all his sarcasm and tricks – a man as he wouldn’t be caught dead in such an (adorably) humiliating position. He was sputtering something that resembled her name and garbled beginnings of words, but was unable to voice a coherent word, much less a sentence. The squirming Trickster rested his head onto her shoulder and unconsciously shook it in protest. The victorious female could feel his resistance rising, it was clear that he wouldn’t last much longer. And so she decided to give him mercy in an unmerciful way.

Sigyn cooed cruelly into her lover’s ear. She knew that her request was quite impossible yet she trusted his abilities. It was interesting to see the great Master Magician do his magic when he was so marvelously incapacitated.

“ _Will our clothing away_ ”    

He shook his head. Didn’t she know that it was impossible to-- The Prince could not finish the thought. She tightened her hold into an iron grasp and it _hurt_. However the pain worked not to his advantage as it only spurred on his pleasure in an unfathomable way.

“ _Will our clothing away_ ” the girl hissed with more venom in her whisper and continued with the fast – too fast, pace of stroking.

He was frantic. It was impossible to do, he could only use his magic to spirit clothes away when they were energy based, forged from his own energy and neither of their garb was.

The Goddess repeated the command for the third time and simultaneously squeezed him even harder than before. It hurt, oh Norns, did it hurt! He whimpered. But the pain was so exquisite that it nearly made him finish. So wet, so tight – it was hard to form a coherent thought. The God could only shake his head mechanically; no, no, no – how to make her understand?

“ _Will our clothing away_ ”

H-his Queen was demanding, but how could he comply, there was simply no way and he was running out of precious time. Pain-pleasure, movement – fast and slick – too much! The boy-prince _had_ to do her bidding. And he was about to do something when her thumb pressed hard into his tip. Not for the first time she had abused the most sensitive spot and she was aware that it was the way to make him truly _‘sing’_.

The sorcerer weaved his energy about their clothes – knowing that the attempt would be met with harsh failure. A crackle of magic and air hit his bare skin.

Both of the Godlings gasped. He hadn’t realized just how uncomfortable his clothes had been, especially _there_ where the core of his pleasure was rooted. She stopped her hand’s unrelenting strokes on that pleasurably tormented part of his physique. The woman was as naked as he, their garb had manifested somewhere in the area – the Master Sorcerer had succeeded, the spell had prevailed. He took her wrists into shaking hands – lest she attempt something again on his hypersensitive body. Swallowing thickly, closing his eyes and resting his head on her shoulder, he tried to reign-in the furious tempest within.

It was difficult to make his mind and body return to some kind of normalcy. He tried to gather from the scarps of his hazy coherency the necessary to form what to do next. The girl-woman allowed him rest for a while and afterwards none too gently pushed him back. The young man did not fight it and allowed himself be pushed onto his back, feeling the uneven texture of the megalith stone. She pressed light kisses to his lips and face, which did not help his state.

Some untellable time later he was still not completely over the heavy, mind-numbing dysfunction. His hand was brought to her stomach and even without words he knew what was required of him to do. The God of Magic forced his energy into her, she hummed at the sensation.

He furrowed his brow, something was not right, was he still not coherent enough? Her womb felt thick and his magic stuck and got tangled in it, moving with difficulty he had not experienced prior. Mystified he did not cease and only pressed onwards. The walls of the muscle were covered with something, something thick. It was... blood? The magician was confused for a moment until he realized why it was different. It was her moon blood. The realization did not put him off nor did he feel some sort of disgust because of it. On the contrary, there had been a plentitude of the crimson liquid shed tonight. The male knew that Vanir rituals often incorporated blood in them, it held quite the significance, so this was not a hindrance.

Knowing several contraception spells and potions was not the end of his knowledge of female anatomy. So despite the fact that Sigyn was menstruating, he was aware that she could still be fertile, unlikely but possible. The God of Lies searched for the egg and found that it had already dissolved and been expelled from her body. Still he enforced the spell just in case; this ritualistic Vanir stuff could have had him less observant and he did not wish (and nor did she) for his seed to bear fruit within her.

The God of Deceit moved his hand from below her navel once the task had been complete. She was blushing slightly and flicked her hair over her shoulder as if in a sign of indifference, the display and the blush caused his mouth to quirk into a smirk.

He brought his hand down and was planning to use his digits when a dismayed sound stopped him. His palm cupped her, feeling the smooth skin, he lifted his eyes to look into her expression. A scarlet blush covered her face and it was clearly evident even in the dim lighting. The reaction puzzled him and-- oh, he quickly got his answers as to what troubled her. A rush of hot liquid met his still fingers and she had felt it coming; he purred. Well, perhaps the readying of her body was unnecessary the Lie God thought, seeing as she was quite wet. He removed his hand and placed it onto her side, his bloodied fingers tracing the girl’s hipbone. He did not care for the blood that he was smearing, for they both had traces of it on their skin from their cut palms.

The woman took the man’s other hand and placed it onto the opposite side of her body. His grip was quite firm and the look of concentration in his green orbs told her that he was aware of what she was going to do. To an extent she was sure of herself, however this position was new and making love was also quite the same, therefore she required his hold to steady her. She lifted herself up and he helped her maintain perfect balance. It was difficult to angle their bodies like this and after several minutes of blind probing he was there where she needed him. Biting her lip the Goddess sunk down slightly, ignoring the way Loki’s breath was caught audibly breaking. He was just slightly inside her and she was quite steady with her hands splayed on his abdomen, and his – holding her hips. With a breath she impaled herself onto his length quickly.

The torches roared brightly and loudly, starting to burn at their full capacity. Both lovers ignored the bright change in light. Spots danced in the Heir’s vision, the sensation was overpowering. Her core was slick and tight, unimaginably so. As always the pleasure was blinding but he did feel what the Lady atop resonated – it wasn’t something as good as pleasure, but there was no pain, just a slight discomfort. His hands tightened their grasp, fingers clenching and unclenching constantly, while he tried to regulate his breathing.

The Vanir threw her head back instantly as their bodies finally joined, a spiritual bond sizzled back into life with flying colors the moment they became one once more. Her breath was stolen from her lungs and if not for that, then her soundless scream would not have been without sound. This position was new, there was no doubt about it; loving was always novel between them – but this was somehow different even more so. The way he felt inside her was different and although before she quite frequently had felt him brush her womb, it had never been a feeling she experienced from the first stroke. Her Dark Prince had never been this deep in the first minutes of their physical unions. There wasn’t any significant pain, however she still felt how her insides were stretched so forcefully due to the swiftness with which she had pushed herself down. Sigyn should have been used to this – to feeling this full, but she wasn’t and she didn’t know whether she wanted to be used to this. The vibrant echo of the pleasure the royal male beneath emanated helped her calm herself from the raging, raw newness and unexpectedness she felt.

She allowed herself a moment to adjust, however her moment was cut short when the powerful hands on her began gyrating her hips into his. The girl-woman understood his intentions, they were obviously written on his beautiful face, alas the Godling wasn’t helping her. Quite the opposite, she didn’t want him to control her, even if he just wanted her to get used to this faster.

It took him by surprise when she lifted herself up, slowly drawing her heat away from him. And his love wasn’t stopping and he was helping her rise. She rose to the point where only his tip was buried within her and she slammed down her physique onto him, successfully knocking the air out of them both. It definitely wasn’t shallow, like he expected the movement in this position to be. No, she was _taking_ him in the way he always took her – in long and deep thrusts.      

It was not easy to continue in a domineering position. The Princess had to struggle to adapt quickly and the battles with bouts of pleasure that took spontaneous flame inside them both as she moved were difficult to overcome. It took great determination not to slump forward and swiftly lose her victorious position. That would be an opening that her mischievous lover was waiting for and she wasn’t planning on giving him one. She didn’t allow herself to stop or to change how she moved in order to create lighter penetration. The young woman wanted him this way – like she was used to having him, even if it was complicated to control the pace and depth, and even if she had to try hard to ignore how he brushed against her cervix more often than ever before.

And when the Goddess thought that her metaphorical crown was firmly set upon her head she was proved wrong as he bucked into her. The unexpected action made him hit a sweet spot within her and she let out a loud wail of pleasure. It had her grasping at his torso where her hands had rested, accidentally leaving a few scratches on his pale skin.

The God of Mischief felt the vivid spark that his movement caused and so he continued to deliberately abuse her insides in the same way. With his second upward thrust she had completely lost her upright position and she was doubled over him, her back arched in a seemingly uncomfortable way. He did not cease and with only that she had lost her ability of movement. His pace was furious and the sounds she released were pure music to his ears, and the kind of music only he was allowed to hear, her music for _him_. With only pleasure he had trapped his beloved in this place, still one of his hands shifted helping move her hips slightly and keep her secured in this position. She was mounting to her climax fast and that was exactly what Loki wanted.

In a quick moment he felt her begin tightening about him. It was only added motivation for him to try harder as he reveled in what she experienced. With each movement he made Sigyn _sing_ for him. It was glorious as she reached the clouds and soared through them. All for _him_ , all because of _him_.

He slowed only when she began descending, although he was aware that this angle could force her into another high while she wasn’t even out of her first. Nearly halting the God did so because he felt like giving her a mercy, however it was very difficult to grant – her pleasure was addicting when he felt it as his own. She wouldn’t appreciate being outthrust into climax continuously, having coherency removed so completely, especially when her body was always so overexert, hypersensitive and any kind of contact caused her mild discomfort.

The young Lady tried to keep herself upright. Her breathing was so labored that she felt that she may actually pass out. Each of his, now tender, thrusts felt sharp and made her groan. It did not matter that she was still lost somewhere in the haze of the highest passion, that her mind was not out of that heaven yet, she had to regain control – fast. Or else that wicked, wicked man would either lay her beneath or continue bucking into her, dangerously taking away all her capacity of thought with the movement.

She used her helplessly shaking hands to straighten up. He stopped moving, giving her a moment of reprieve, which she knew wouldn’t last. The Vanir female had to ignore her protesting body, which at best required time to relax and at worst – delicate treatment, and she could afford neither. Regulating her exhales and inhales she sucked in a sound of objection as she shifted her form. After a few experimental and shallow sways she had managed to change the angle so that that spot inside her would not take the brunt of their movement. The God of Lies seemed slightly upset, but he didn’t do anything and only reestablished his firm hold.

He let her do as she pleased and the girl knew that he was trying to control his instinct to buck, however a haphazard thrust here and there occurred. After a while, when it became easier for her to continue in a more or less even rhythm, her love’s upward shoves were no longer as difficult to withstand.

And so her second and third high came at their own time; unlike the first, they took longer to be reached and lasted longer, the climbing was gradual and didn’t hit her so unexpectedly.

The Heir of Asgard admired the woman atop him and what throes of passion did to her. Her movement was a far cry from being even and when she reached her apogees – it would become utterly sporadic. It did not matter to him however, it was difficult enough not to let himself follow, the chaotic rhythm and the sheer wildness of it was more than enjoyable. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever set eyes on and now she looked even more godly. Her physique glowed from sweat in the constantly moving light. Red smears like war-paint adorned her soft and smooth flesh. Her green eyes emanated light, shinning like a true Vanir’s. The torch light was dancing in her hair, creating the illusion of small droplets of gold dripping along her burgundy locks. Sigyn was divine, his Queen of Vanaheim.  

Her breasts jolted with each movement she made. He wanted so badly to take one of those rosy peaks into his mouth, but he couldn’t without startling her and unsettling her pace. He bit his lip. How sensitive they probably were during this time now, those delicate mounds should not be subjected to this rough treatment. The girl-woman was steady enough to no longer need his steadying hold so he trailed his hands to cup her breasts. He let out a satisfied sound from the back of his throat, they were so soft. And despite the fact that the Asgardian royal was aware of their sensitivity he could not help himself and the wicked wish to squeeze her flesh. The right kind of shock echoed to him when he followed the whim. His thumbs brushed and swirled those puckered tips, his actions left his beloved gasping.

Time moved by its own course, but the night was still young. The Lady kept her rhythm, both were enjoying her long movement upwards and swift, and deep descending. The green-eyed male’s hands had long since returned to grip her hips lightly, always ready to aid if the loving would become too much for her to bear.

Soon he was beginning to show resistance, not physically – it had not come to that, but mentally he was already becoming aware of their love making going the wrong way. The rock was digging into his back but that was the least of his worries. His pleasure was spiking and he could feel that she was too far behind. Yet she didn’t do anything to change that, the female had to be aware of what he felt, yet she only spurred him on. The Godling _could not_ and _would not_ allow this to happen. They always reached their climaxes together, hers triggering his. But she was too far away and he had to do something to stop his high from happening. The far too few hours were half the time, maybe less, of what he usually managed to last. And an ending as this was unacceptable to him.

Sigyn felt Loki mounting up to the highpoint of their loving. She moved faster and pushed him onwards to the ecstasy. His pleasure rippled within her and she was well aware that it was not her own – that however did not mean that it wasn’t pleasurable. She understood that she wasn’t going to greet him in that euphoric state but that didn’t matter, she didn’t want to. Seeing him soar and tumble from heaven-like bliss was her goal. His fingers were desperately twisting on her sides, nails slightly scrapping in their frantic movements. If she wouldn’t pace herself right and push him soon, then he might stop her game entirely – and that the Victorious Goddess could not allow. She wanted to witness his fall without her own pleasure obscuring her senses. She was satisfied enough, having ascended and violently descended several times. Observing him when he finished was worthy enough to deny herself more ecstasy.

The squirming one wretched his hands away from their immobile position – he had to stop her rapid swaying before it was too late. Alas he failed in his task as he was unexpectedly thrust into starlit rapture. His spine arched, body spasming in pure bliss. The emerald orbs were wrenched shut as a growling sound escaped the God. He released in jerky movements. The lip he had trapped between his teeth was bitten and bled. A metallic taste filled his mouth, but all he was aware of was the slick tightness grasping his length and an explosion of pleasure.        

She had to deny the urge to throw her head back, the power of his high was magnificent. The cold, cold rush of fluid had her mewling – she loved the sensation. The woman atop watched the trashing man beneath her.

Only when his spine relaxed from its strained position did she allowed herself to lean down. She knew that he wasn’t back from his high, he was shuddering terribly – not as badly as he did when he came though. She gazed at his fluttering dark eyelashes, which hid his perfect emeralds from sight. Her green-eyed devil was so vulnerable – she adored him to tears. Carefully so as not to let him slip out – not yet, she pressed herself to his trembling body. She pressed delicate kisses to the Golden Throne Heir’s jaw and stroked his hair.

Once he returned to the world of awareness he was dismayed. This had not ended like it was _supposed_ to. Perhaps he could still initiate something, but the ‘when exactly’ and not knowing the answer to that question upset him, alas he wasn’t aware that the torches still blazed furiously. His love had to have known what she was doing – she was calming him now, showering down butterfly kisses and petting his tangled locks. The Trickster God couldn’t repress the shudders as her warmth, so warm, so, so warm core unconsciously clenched about him occasionally. He could not will himself to meet her eyes. He was aware that he would not see any disappointment there and she wasn’t soothing him with the intention to quell him. Happiness over the fact that he was proven right – that she was a danger, even more so when allowed to do as she pleased without careful supervision, was not possible. He had not wanted to gain the affirmation of his strong suspicion in this way.

Minutes later, when control over his limbs returned, he shifted the girl. A whimper escaped her and a tamed growl from him as their bodies were separated. It was too cold without her heat over his hypersensitive form. She was half-laying on the altar and half-laying on him. He gripped her upper-arms and moved her higher – she did not fight it, he took to hiding in the junction of her neck and shoulder. For several minutes he held her like that until he released her. He stroked her back with his fingers and all the while the Princess purred like a contented cat. His hand strayed to her inner thigh. It was wet with blood and his seed. Her moon blood could be interpreted as an allusion to the blood of a virgin and that coexisted well with the ritualistic loving they had indulged in.

The God of Trickery could not tell the passing of time, it had to be less than an hour when a strange sensation overtook him. He was aware of what it was, but the sheer impossibility of it made him doubt his self-assessment. Having been partially sprawled over him the Vanir Goddess felt the change as well. With a coo from her she moved her leg in between his, making him hiss at the contact. There was no denying it and it did not matter why he was ready so quickly – because he _was_ becoming aroused. Mentally shaking himself he slung her physique over his, along the way issuing a firm squeeze to her bottom. Wasting no time the God pressed her pelvis hard and grated hers to his own. His hardening length rubbed at her swollen flesh, touching her clitoris – the key of her pleasure as well, her reactions were expressed in strangled sounds.

The mischievous Prince rose into a seated position, taking the unresisting Lady together with him. She clutched his arms as if afraid of falling off him. A vocalization of mild disorientation – the previous contact must have shaken her physical and mental being somewhat. He did not allow her to gather herself, instead he kissed her and forced his tongue into her complaint mouth (she vaguely tasted blood). Her brow was furrowed and she was breathless from his delicious poison-like kiss. Oh, he had to do so quickly, there was no way to be sure that the minx would not want to continue with her reign from above. It served as a distraction of sorts, for when he released her sweet maw – he roughly changed their positions. Sigyn’s back met the cold stone and if his had been subjected to the unevenness of it, then she was going to be sporting much more serious bruises and scrapes when he would be through with her, but he couldn’t be bothered with caring for that now.

None too gently he wrenched her legs apart. He met her still hazy eyes that were glowing green and swirled along with sparkling amber, her chin however was set in a defiant line. He pushed in roughly, their physical, mental and spiritual bond was reestablished. The female’s spine snapped up. He felt no pain or even high discomfort emanate from her, but he felt how her body (and possibly mind) was startled. Despite the speed of his initial thrust the pace he set was quite slow. She began moving back into him almost instantaneously. The God of Mischief reveled in the mewls he caused to erupt from her throat. He grinned as the ripples of her pleasure touched him.

Soon her legs shifted and spasmed about his sides – he was aware that they would soon intentionally or unintentionally try and lock around him. That would hinder his drawn-out rhythm – so it would not be allowed to happen, and he still had more for her in store.

The Godling grasped her legs and shifted them slightly higher. His movement changed and the change was not gradual, he began pounding into her core. No longer just brushing the back of her womb but slamming into it. The force of it caused pain and he felt it, but marvelously it worked the same way it had on him – it intensified her pleasure.

For the first time his lover was trying to say something and realizing that it was his name (perhaps uttered in wish to request him to cease swaying into her like this or perhaps not – it did not matter). All he heard was _Loki, Loki, Loki_ – the sound was breathless and soon took to breaking without forming his given name fully. She were desperately clawing at his back and he soon relieved her hands of their frantic task by interlacing her fingers with his own, the cuts on their hands touching once more. He kissed her, sealing the name into his mouth and then bit her shoulder and neck, all the while pressing their cut hands as his other had returned to balance him.

And quickly even his name was forgotten and no longer tumbled from her bitten, swollen lips, something much louder and never heard was vocalized. Each time he roughly hit her cervix she _screamed_. And Loki couldn’t stop loud groans escaping him. But he wasn’t stopping and he wasn’t planning to. She was falling into and out of clouds unexpectedly, tightening about him as roughly as he was moving in her. And he wasn’t ceasing or slowing.

Like that it continued, her highs were sporadic, difficult to deny joining in and following. He had never treated her this harshly, but all that there was – was pleasure, rippling in both of the younglings.      

There was darkness (cold – the night) and light (hot – the torches) around them, there was darkness (burning ice) within him and light within her (freezing fire). But the darkness began to ebb away and dawn was approaching on the wings of morn. He couldn’t feel (not yet) the fatigue in his limbs, the tiredness seeping in; she could not feel the damage done to her back or the strained and abused muscles in her body. Nothing but pleasure and pain had enveloped them, everything else ceased to exist.

Sigyn’s back arched swiftly, a scream so loud that it echoed throughout the hills erupted from her very being, somewhere deep down in his drown coherency the God of Lies was aware that she would be hoarse later. She squeezed him so tightly and continuously that he released himself within her burning depths.

When the strength of their high left, he collapsed on top of her, being still connected at her core. As their unexplainable bond died down into slumber – only to be awakened once more when called, he was aware of the blackness overtaking them both. The torches had been extinguished and somewhere in the distance birds... birds(?) were beginning to sing their cheerful songs. The boy-prince couldn’t be bothered with thinking whether they were both slipping into the void of sleep from exhaustion or passing out from the broken damn of emotions and sensations that had washed them.


	23. Traveling. Part I

**Chapter twenty-three**

**_Traveling._ ** **Part I**

 

 

The Godlings began preparing for their journey the next day. Because the travel itself had not been planned prior, it required preparation. Their destination – Niflheim, the Realm of Primordial Ice, was not somewhere one unaccustomed to its climate could venture unprepared.

Most of Sigyn’s belongings had been transported into Vanaheim, amongst them were clothing and items she would need to make such a journey. Alas that was not the case for Loki. There was nothing of his in this world (except for his lover, but while he needed her, she was not an object or related there where it concerned surviving in freezing weather). A detour for Asgard was possible but not at the same time, there was no question that either by the Goddess’s means or his own – that it could be reached, however he was actually supposed to be somewhere else and risking being found out in Realm Eternal (when the Bifrost was supposed to be the only means of getting into other worlds) was not an option.

While the Prince was a Master of his trade, even told to be the one to god-over magic, his power was not unlimited. Fashioning clothes out of pure energy or storing things in the negative space (or so he called it) was not impossible to him (not that either was very easy and both required preparation), though it was not just impractical but also out of his abilities to keep up for a long time.

He wondered why this did not bother the Lady, surely she had come to the conclusion that he was utterly unprepared for such a ‘vacation’. When the topic about where should they go to had arisen, the young man had perhaps forgotten such details. The God of Deceit had not lied when he agreed on the adventure, he had believed that it was possible even if it were to take place tomorrow, this week or the next. He cursed himself for his shortsightedness, he did not wish to tell his thrilled beloved that their plan could not be realized at this very moment.

After breakfast (timed at midday) they were returning to the Princess’s storage ‘house’. They were walking in comfortable silence (it was tense on his side) when a heavy, but relatively warm, downpour had occurred. However the rain was ignored and their pace was not hastened. The God still had not shared what he had already summarized about their current predicament and the unavailability to turn their plot into reality. Even as she told him of why they were going there – he had not chimed in. He did not like to label himself as a coward, but he did realize that he kept quiet because of cowardice – he simply did not know how he could force himself to say something that would make her unhappy.

The God of Mischief was a true egoist and his acts of altruism were no less than they were because of that, even if he, most of the time, did something for others because of selfish reasons. Therefore he tried to keep those he cared for happy (or keep certain beliefs intact), sometimes getting singed from his own generosity. But the need to keep those beings well arose from the fact that they were _his_ , this didn’t diminish the actions themselves even if the source of them was questionable. So keeping his love happy was important (even if sometimes he would have to sacrifice something more beneficial to him to retain her in that state), it didn’t necessarily make him happy – but at least a fraction of him always felt glad for her. The male was intelligently selfish, he knew that to ensure his own long-term happiness, which coexisted with the female’s happiness, he should keep her contented as much as he could.

The dilemma and the Asgardian Heir’s reluctance to shatter the woman’s good spirits plagued him all the way to the small ruins. He followed her numbly and when she began browsing the contents of the used-to-be structure he was aware that he had to say it. However just as before – the sound kept dying in his throat. He didn’t want to see her saddened or keeping up a brave it-doesn’t-really-matter façade for him (lies! his mind screeched at the idea, the Lie God could not bear the thought of her having to lie to him, even if for his sake).

The girl-woman tossed something to him and he caught it. It was an inversed fur pelt of some kind, however judging by the size it was not meant for someone petite. He looked back to her and she was still crouched, laying out clothing – he gathered that those were men’s clothes. And he knew that those weren’t part of the things he had brought to her from Noatun.

The Trickster God was still not out of his state of fretting, therefore he did not manage to say anything.

She said without looking back at him.

“I had thought that we may venture somewhere without planning and that you wouldn’t have anything for such with you, so I picked up a few things. Call it luck...” the victorious one ended with a chuckle. She explained no further from where or how she had gotten the clothing and he did not ask about it.

The Goddess of Victory (truly lucky, at least sometimes) continued rummaging through her stuff. She took items that could be of value in their quest, although she had lamented that she did not have a yurt (or something like that) that could be used as a sufficiently warm shelter in the World of Ice.

* * *

 

The rain had stopped and so, packs packed, but still in the clothing of yesterday, both younglings had stopped for a meal. A bonfire roared and the clouds were heavy. The boy-prince had hunted an animal (that poor thing, the Vanir thought) and it was now roasting over the flames. It would be a splendid lunch: the meat let out a tasty aroma as it cooked, seasoned well with quite a few herbs and for garnish there would be fruit. There was also a large bottle of wine (courtesy of the Asgardian). It was a long time since Sigyn had tasted meat last, she did not hunt animals on her own (even if she would’ve had the necessary skills to catch it, to slay it – she simply had too much heart). She was anticipating getting her teeth into it.

They continued discussing the details of their journey.

“Any ideas on where to start looking?” he inquired while turning their main course over the fire.

“Yes, actually, I do. See since it’s a spring that we’re after, well I think that it’s most possibly a spring or a river--”

The Godling interjected, he was curious.

“Why do you think that it is not a well?”

“I just think so. It doesn’t matter why, Loki! Just listen to what I’m saying. Since it _is_ a spring/river, ah how did you put it? Oh yeah, ‘whence all waters rise’, then it can’t be frozen over. So we should head to the regions of the realm where it is warm enough for water to flow”

The envy-green God didn’t say anything to that, however it did make sense. Hvergelmir – bubbling, boiling, its name did not indicate that it was frozen solid. And if the mystical ‘Well’ was not an anomaly that objected the laws of nature, then it was plausible to try looking for it in the warmest areas.

The young Lady continued with her speech.

“Our targets are the east and south regions”

“Where the astral line of Muspellheim meets Niflheim” he added absentmindedly. That was the very reason why there were any unfrozen places in that world. The diagonal line between the primordial realms clashed and was the reason why the phenomenon of fog, not snow blizzards but fog, was frequent in the Ice Realm – often called the Abode of Mists.  

“Exactly” she tapped an unvarnished nail onto her clothed knee. “We’re quite lucky that we are in Vanaheim because from the north of this realm (and we’re kind of there already) I can walk us into the south region of Niflheim”

“Then why are we bringing so much of what we would need in places of colder climate?” the Heir asked as he used wine to douse the flame there where it had gotten too high and was licking at the roasting meat.

“Well because _theoretically_ I can get us there, heck I haven’t gotten the hang of this ability so that I could always without fail cut paths short and get exactly there where I want to. I mean I am theorizing here based on the realm placement and you know well that I can walk in zigzags and whatnot. Not exactly something paced on straight lines, I mean Asgard and Vanaheim are well ways apart”

He nodded.

“Still there is the problem on how we will locate Hvergelmir”

“I’ll talk to birds or something” she answered indignantly.

“Birds?” the one overlooking the roast asked, amusement evident in his tone.

The girl threw her hands up in the air exasperated.

“Honestly! It was a joke!”

“So you cannot talk to birds?”

“I can’t talk to birds.”

The Trickster inquired once more trying hard to bite back a grin.

“Even the ones in Vanaheim?”

“Yes, even those.” she eyed the mischievous male and watched as his stomach moved in silent laughter, that mirthful expression was annoying “Shut up.”

The God of Trickery didn’t verbally poke the Princess more. He touched the meat with the tip of his finger and then made cuts with a knife to see whether it was cooked through. Putting the part of the digit that had touched the tasty juices of the well spiced meal into his mouth, he announced.

“‘S done”

* * *

 

The meal had been divine. With their stomachs full neither wanted to leave just yet. They stayed beside the last dying embers of the fire. Neither cared for the damp grass that they had been sitting on for some time now.

The second-born Prince tenderly but firmly brushed the skin beneath the young woman’s stormy sea blue eye. She didn’t flinch but turned to look at him with wide orbs. He repeated the action.

“Your make-up is smudged”

Despite the fact that it was enchanted, her paint of yesterday was smeared slightly, perhaps rain was to blame (although he had never seen it ruined, no matter the circumstances).

“Shite” she swore. “My spell is running low”

“You must concentrate harder then, Sigyn”

“You are a distraction” the female accused.

“Ah, you wound me” he said in mock fashion.

Snorting she corrected the outrageous claim.

“Hardly, if anything I’m just feeding your enormous ego”

His reply was a bite to her earring-less ear.

“Well maybe I like being a distraction” he whispered wickedly into her ear.

Both his actions and his words caused laughter to escape the Vanir Goddess.

Still not willing to begin trekking to another world both lovers remained where they were and conversed about random, travel-unrelated topics. She was telling him a story about what she had found in Vanaheim, but he was more focused into his own musings (however he did listen to what she said attentively). Not for the first time that day he had paid attention to the texture of her voice. She was hoarse and it was clear just when she had screamed her throat raw. His poor baby – he thought, but didn’t regret anything. The God of Lies had noticed that her walk had been less jolly, involved less of its childlike skipping. Their loving last night had left an imprint on her (literally as well). When they had dressed on the late, late morning he had been given the full view of her back, which was riddled with scratches and bruises. Not that he was fairing much better, there were plenty of hurts on his body and that made him feel lethargic – but in a contented manner. Still, magic was blessed when they had to remove the blood that had caked them both, alas he was not allowed (and he hadn’t suggested) taking care of their (but mostly her) wounds. It was peculiar how difficult it had been to tear off his eyes when his lover was dressing. The visage haunted him: her milky, blood-dirtied and bruised skin – nude and vulnerable in the scarce sunlight.

No matter how much he wanted to ask how she faired (and offer his aid in any way that he could), he dared not. The chances that she would allow him anything (even if it was to her gain) were close to nonexistent. Most possibly Sigyn’s response would be a hiss and a taunt thrown his way. And he _definitely_ **did not** want to have her remind him how he had squirmed yesterday. Because despite his best abilities, he could not lie to himself and convince his constantly accuracy-striving brain that he had been composed. However thus did not mean that the God of Deceit had been put to his place and that this happening was dead and ended, long buried in the realm of forgetfulness. Oh no, he would remember that for a long time to come and remembrance was not all that he was left with, retaliation awaited his little minx. But he was not foolish, he was patient. How did that saying go, ah yes – payback is a bitch. And so it would be. But to make the impact of it truly last – he needed her to lower her guard, to have her completely forget all about his Trickster nature. He would strike only when she thought that he (the Trickster God!) was tamed and safe. Besides, he needed to formulate a plan most deliciously vicious and he had plenty of time for that...

* * *

 

The declination from their course had been slight.

In Loki’s first inner musings of that day he had thought Sigyn’s ability to deny boundaries to be peculiar and amusing. She could _walk_ realms (he hadn’t even pondered on how impossible the feat in itself was, to simply cross vast distances of _space_ and connect worlds in a way for that to be possible – because he had mussed on it long before) and succeed in making the transition between them to the destination in mind when she was unconscious of it, but conscious effort could only aid her when the destination itself was vague. That meant that if she knew and thought of where she wanted to go, a very specific location – the rates of success were low, however if she did not think of it precisely – they were high. The theory revealed that this power was very instinctual and was not (or perhaps could not) be controlled by the mind – by willful and logical decisions.

Then again there was no surprise that it was so, he had learned that her very being was based on instincts, but different from those acknowledged by Asgardians. The Master of Magic could have attested this all-encompassing trait to Vanir – and in a way that was correct, although when contemplating his lover’s ability to travel like that – it could also be wrong. A similar power was possessed by her mother – Freya, therefore it could be claimed that it was hereditary. But he knew very little of the Love Goddess’s ability to venture from realm to realm, however enough to be certain that it was different. There was also the fact that he was not aware if there were (or had been) any other of her kin who could travel worlds, nothing in anything he had read or heard indicated that. Furthermore, he could not tell what was the effect to the girl-woman’s ability her mixed blood. She was half Vanir and half Dvergar. In the end her bloodline was irrelevant – whether the Lady’s power was instinctual or not, and whether that had anything to do with her being Vanir – because there were other, more plausible explanations on the oddities displayed by her ability.

In his ponderings of ethereal instincts the God of Magic had not thought of _power_ in the manner in which he understood it best. And when he had, he found a way that, if not fully explained, then embraced the chaos in an understandable explanation. Because it was _power_ and great power at that, the irrationality of it was not really strange. Almost any powerful ability, which was unmastered – was chaotic and uncontrollable. However the girl’s ability was quite orderly in its chaos – perhaps that was the only part where the very ‘instinct’ thesis rung true. In short, the sorcerer had concluded that without proper taming (if that was even possible) the female would never reach _exact_ destinations without a random percent of failure.

The most correct description of Niflheim was ice upon ice. But the young man had known that, having made numerous journeys into the world of the primal cold element. It did not snow there. There was only ice. Gray upon gray, emphasized by the overbearing fogs.

It had taken two days, without stopping and without exhausting the woman’s ability to shorten distances – too much, in order to reach the south border of the realm.

She had often tripped while walking on the slippery ground and her flailing was chuckle-worthy. He had placed his steading hand upon her upper-arm, as if she were a disobedient child, and had not removed it throughout the whole ordeal. It did not matter whether she did know a spell that could aid in keeping her balanced because her focus had been elsewhere. The magician had not cast an enchantment himself in order to not make his magic interfere with her power of _walking_. He’d been infinitively glad that they had not found themselves in the coldest of the world because they were utterly unprepared for the freeze that lingered there.

He could have sworn that once they had entered the edges of the desired region that they had found themselves in another realm. The transition had been so similar to the one he had experienced when walking from Svartalfheim to the Unnamed Realms (or the more subtle change from Asgard to Vanaheim). Truly the south of Niflheim looked like a different plane altogether and he had not seen previously this part of it. Initially, through the illusion of the hazes, the passing seemed to have been gradual and then in an instant it changed cardinally.

Even in the tundra-like scenery in which they had set up a tent, brought from the Lady’s homeland, the mists remained. And they still had been as disorienting as before. Not more than a few feet in front could have been seen through the thick fog, just as prior – it was difficult to make out anything of the vista ahead or behind. But the hazes of the Abode of Mists were capricious and so at times they had cleared just enough to reveal the exceedingly soft moss underneath their feet, the scarce shrubbery and outlines of crooked pines with their big and fleshy spikes. The air was damp in a way that it wasn’t at the same time; it was sufficient for the plant-life and if it were not so, then it would not have survived – it never rained in Niflheim.

No wind existed either, neither harsh and stormy nor light and breezy. The fact contradicted the movement and momentary disappearances of the mists, they swirled, swam away and into them, seemingly out of caprice alone. But that was also not entirely correct, however not entirely wrong either. There was reason as to why this region was here in the first place as well as the ‘how’ the fogs had ability to not linger in place, alas it did not explain their nearly elliptical movement – that was unexplainable. In the Dark Prince’s very bones he felt a certain suction, a vacuum that had only a single direction. The feeling was very slight and without his honed ability and sensitivity for weather – he had doubted that he’d have could felt it. This phenomenon that drew air into itself was actually the astral line of Muspellheim. Where the astral lines of the Primal Element Worlds met – they continuously fought one against the other, and neither was weaker in their contrasting powers. The permanent signs of their battles were the warmer regions of Niflheim and the colder regions of Muspellheim, also the presence of mists in the aforementioned realm. Despite the fact that the Heir had figured out why these hazes shifted, that did not dispel the effect they had. The hindering of sight and the movement itself was potent in its force to disorient any being.    

It had been warm enough for the two Godlings and so they had shed the outer coats that they wore. Like most of the things they had brought, the clothing was also stored away in the negative space. However the more the God of Lies had thought about it, the more it was obvious that that claim was false. Both of them didn’t really use it as much as they relied on compression – shrinking spells, there was little of the voids that were incorporated in that. And that realization had pressed the male into thinking harder on the topic.

The existence of voids, vast and empty, and inaccessible spaces in _space_ itself – was not denied, being somewhat of a common knowledge with people interested in the subject. But there was nothing, nor written nor spoken anywhere in the Nine about someone using them. Even if someone did use them, like he and his beloved did, then only partially and without truly understanding it. And the unexplored factor of this had made it all the more intriguing for the God of Deceit to ponder upon.

He himself hadn’t really accessed the negative space, neither did he really use it to the full (theoretical) capacity. The Trickster could cloak himself even from the eyes of the Bifrost’s Guardian, however he had never studied the technicality of his various hiding spell and abilities. The most difficult and powerful of those techniques did not actually include traveling via those hollows and he had never assumed it to be so. But considering the feeling that followed him once this unimaginable power was in use – conflicted that. No, the God of Trickery had not been wrong in his primal understanding, but it wasn’t entirely true either. The best explanation he could find was that once cloaked, he was treading the borderland between space, neither present in one nor in the other. He existed both in the negative and the positive realities simultaneously. The revelation combined with the remembrance of the sensation had spawned a thought in his head that in turn gave birth to a violent spinal shiver. The thought was a saying, quite frequent to be greeted in Realm Eternal, and that saying became a metaphor, which made a good comparison with the feeling he experienced – _one foot in the grave_.

However the ominous idea had not pushed him away from contemplating the possibilities and they were numerous. Unlimited storage – how useful that would be, being not restricted by spell-casting limits on compressing spells. And with this whole concept being so new, if he could only harness the voids, then they would be inaccessible to anyone. Added with certain precautions against uninvited intruders, that would truly be the safest of the safest of keeps. A place where he could hide any treasure or place away various items, which could be taken at anytime, anywhere. Although the last part, the ‘anywhere’ might be not too correct, the negative space was throughout all, but the best, most stable hollows actually had a place (although an inexistent place in reality, since they did not occupy space, but they still had a certain _place_ of belonging). So perhaps he could gain access to one from a certain location or locations, it was logical since both realm-roads as well as his highest cloaking ability worked only there (or worked best in the case of the latter) where the fabric of reality was thinner.

He had inwardly entertained the idea for a long time. Thinking of how he would test and then tame the voids. First, he would have to pick a well ‘defined’ hollow, the smaller the better – no more than a meager closet-sized gap in reality would do. Second, he would have to initiate a number of tests: see whether the items stored would disappear (if so what kind, on what conditions and so on), later check the durability of time on them (what effect would it have on what), make sure there was no dispersion of the void and no effects of space pressurization and expansion. And lastly, when as much as he could gather would be gathered, actually begin using the negative space.

With positive thoughts of success he had pondered upon even bigger possibilities. Unlimited storage of _items_ was good but could there be more? The line of thought about hiding or keeping _live_ beings in voids had roused even more questions. Such as: what effect would that have, if time would continue or stop outside the hollow; would different holes in the fabric of reality have different effects; could they be looped or patched and etcetera. If that was possible then the boy-prince was definitely looking forward to having such power at his beck and call. Maybe the negative space could also be reformed to actually house living spaces...

In the small tent, curled behind Sigyn, Loki drifted off into slumber with thoughts of great power and voids. It was no surprise that both of the younglings’ dreams resembled an inviting, black abyss.


	24. Traveling. Part II

**Chapter twenty-four**

**_Traveling._ ** **Part II**

The two travellers had long since eradicated the idea of searching for the water-body in the east region, if they had not – it would have defeated the purpose of heading south. Due to Muspellheim’s astral line the eastern part of the World of Primal Ice was the warmest and while they had theorized that Hvergelmir was in the epicenter of the heat, they also knew that the south pole of the realm also had one, and they decided to make it their destination. The duo had dismissed the east initially out of convenience, but later ponderings had led them to an understanding that the south part was odd in its climate. And where should one search for a mystical Well if not in a mystical place? The strangeness in temperature of the bottom of Niflheim could have been explained by the fact that that was where the astral line of Vanaheim met it. However Sigyn’s heim-land was mild in weather and so claiming it to be the reason was flawed, since the south of the Primordial World had little difference from the east. And if Muspellheim’s fires changed it that much – Vanaheim obviously could not compare, therefore the recreation of a similar heat was impossible.

Having that as their thesis they planned on heading to the bottom of the realm’s axis. But due to the fact that neither was too knowledgeable on this part of the Cold World and combined with the ever-shifting fogs that disallowed proper sight – the destination wasn’t quite clear. That was the problem that greeted them first thing after breakfast. And while Loki could appreciate the chaotic effect of an impromptu exploration-based vacation (for he was too meticulous in his plans and it was very rare that he found himself in such situations) he was aware of how the lack of foresight now hindered their adventure.

“Well do you have a better suggestion?” all of the Goddess’s had been rebuffed by her lover’s logical inputs, she huffed in irritation.

“Yes, actually, I do” came the calm reply.

She wondered briefly if he was serious because it was about bloody time for the stalemate to be broken somehow. But with his Trickster nature – she could never know. The Vanir watched as the Asgardian Prince turned his back to her and walked some way from her. She stood waiting, by the second her annoyance was being replaced with intrigue.

The Godling approached some sort of cousin of the pine kingdom. The dark green spiked plant was half crawling along the ground and half trying to rise up and receive more of the sunlight, which was scarcely filtering though the mists, from the never setting sun-star (or possibly sun-stars – plural).

The Princess did not allow her eyes to stray from him and he spun on his heel again to face her. His power began flowing out of him into the reality and covered him whole in an opaque cloud, which stayed put for about ten minutes. She remained in her place curiously observing, blindly guessing on what the green maelstrom of energy would bring forth. It disappeared as if dispersing into the wind and when she could finally see, she could see nothing of the God. A hidden sort of panic resurfaced within her. The thought of this disappearance to be a twisted game from the infamous prankster did not sit well with her. The girl glanced about wildly, who knew how long he would wish to play _hide and seek_?    

A sound brought her attention back to the pine, it was the croak of a crow. And true to it, just above where the God of Magic had stood, a big raven (she had trouble discerning crows from ravens) was perched on a branch.

It was most strange to instantly recognize something she had never witnessed – because that was what it was, not a successful adding-up of obvious information – but actual recognition. The creature of flight had black feathers but they gleamed with the slightest hints of dark green. Intelligent beady orbs of the bird held her in sight.

“Hamingja” she said in breathless awe and took a step closer.

The raven tilted his head to the side – much too unnaturally for what it was supposed to be. The motion appeared to be one of amusement, although it was decidedly difficult to tell such refined emotions on an animal.

The Master Magician’s voice rung through the area, however the sound was disembodied and it did not come from the creature that he had turned into – the beak hadn’t even moved.

“ _And you said you could not talk to birds_ ” the jest was obvious in the tone.

After the words left him the dark raven threw back its head, its beak and body both moved in spasms, the sorcerer’s echoing laughter came from every direction. She understood what had happened, but she couldn’t really force herself to comprehend seeing a bird with its head bent back like that, she felt cold because the angle made it look as if its neck was broken. A dreadful thought that probably thought itself funny crossed her conflicted mind – _even the dead laugh_. But if they did laugh, then definitely in this distorted manner. However the most frightening aspect of it all was that the black crow was Loki and that that disembodied laughter was his, so thinking of him and ( _his_ ) death in the same sentence was unnerving at best.

Somehow in a few seconds the young woman managed to get over her stupor and so, acting as if nothing was amiss, she cast back a challenging question at him.

“So, can I only talk to birds?” she was clearly questioning how many forms the God of Mischief had, he had told her of how he turned to birds (and now she knew how that looked), but not if he could shift into something else. The female placed her hands on her hips and a playful expression ruled over her features.

“ _Maybe_ ” was the answer from the God of Lies. The sound came from nowhere yet somewhere. His voice sounded like carried from a distance and at the same time as though he were standing behind her, whispering in her ear. She could hear the smirk in the word. And although birds could not smirk, it definitely looked smug as it puffed its feathers in something akin to satisfaction.

She allowed herself to be caressed by his direction-scattered voice. Spurring on the fantasy of him standing behind her but a hairsbreadth away.

The Lady stepped closer and outstretched her arm. It – _he_ , she corrected (for she referred to animals as ‘it’ when she did not know whether it was a female or a male, but this was the Lie God and so definitely a he), understood her meaning. The winged creature left his perch and gracefully, but swiftly, flew to her, descending onto the offered limb. He was ever mindful of his sharp talons. She could feel the raven’s weight and could not stop herself from carefully touching the feathers that held just the barest tints of his signature color. It was obvious (even with the difficult-in-deciphering emotions displayed by a bird) that he enjoyed her touch.

All of her sensations indicated that what she saw was real. She had never dealt with shapeshifters and even if she had, without seeing the transition – it was impossible to tell that it was one. That was the reason why her mind had requested her to make sure, and of course she was assured by the fact that it was not an illusion. His hamingja was magnificent and a thousand questions were born in her psyche, awe was also mixing in the brew.

He spoke once more, her questions were halted. The voice of the God of Deceit this time sounded closer, not quite from his physical form, but closer nonetheless.

“ _Give me a couple of hours and I will find the direction in which we should head_ ”

The girl-woman suppressed the urge to ask the things that arose from fascination. She half expected him to fly away without waiting for her to give him her consent. The boy-prince in his changed form gazed at her in anticipation. Words were too difficult a concept at the moment so she only nodded in agreement to his suggestion.

Once the Throne Heir had left she went back to the tent. There she situated herself comfortably and removed a book from her bag, a tiny leather-bound book that contained fiction. With this new development – she was glad that she had taken it.

* * *

 

About four hours later (her book still unfinished) she heard the beating of great wings. The Vanir felt her love’s energy swirl outside and soon (faster than the initial change had occurred) the beating of powerful wings was replaced with the shifting of fabric. She had left the tent unlaced and so he easily got the opened flaps out of the way.

She was facing the opposite side of the entrance-exit point of the small tent. Her legs bent as she laid on her stomach reading – she didn’t turn to the direction of the sound, for she knew to the bone who it was.

When he had finally entered she threw a glance to his crouched body (too tall to stand straight, even she was – because this humble abode was truly very ‘humble’). The space was so small that his feet nearly touched her.

Peering from behind her shoulder she pursed her lips for a second. The young man wore light clothing – the same in which he had come to her in Vanaheim; compared to her knitted, high-necked sweater and thick breeches – he seemed underdressed for the weather. She was aware that he was quite immune to cold, but she couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t simply showing-off that durability. The thought didn’t make much sense but Sigyn knew her lover enough to freely say that he was a show-off and a vain diva (and she didn’t mind that, even if that could possibly prove to become annoying at some point). Still, she was certain that he was feeling neither cold nor probably even chilly, his bodily temperature had always been lower than hers. Which was peculiar knowing that while Aesir differed little from Vanir (mainly differenced in internal organ placement), the temperature of their bodies was the same. She theorized that due to the difference of their stature it would have been plausible that his mass would have made him slightly warmer than her – alas the truth was in reverse of that. The Goddess of ‘fidelity’ loved his coolness (a fact about his physique that he had seemed to have been painfully aware of). She thought that this abnormality was only another thing that made him so unique. Any declination from the norm by Asgardians was considered to be chaos and Loki was not just an agent of chaos, no, he had everything necessary to god-over the element.

The mischievous male regarded her for a split second. Sweeping her form in an appreciating gaze – she did not take any notice of that. He announced to her that despite the overbearing fogs (reason to why it had taken longer than estimated) he had been able to distinguish the correct direction to the epicenter of the heat – hopefully the location of Hvergelmir.  

She shut the small red book that she had been reading and smiled at his success.

* * *

 

The temperature and scenery had barely changed the further they went, from tundra-like to taiga-like. There had been only such slight indicators as the more frequent presence of plant-life. Still it had been enough to make the Lady abandon her sweater in lieu for a lighter blouse, which remained long-sleeved. However the chill had not bothered him (it never did).

In his bird-flight he had not managed to reach the south pole, the distance he had flied spoke of great lengths that they required to pass though. The Godlings could have walked or ran some of it (probably not something the Vanir female had wished to do), but there were ways to reach it faster. The boundary-denying Goddess had not suggested to use her ability and the God hadn’t asked her to shorten their way. While she had seemed content with their slow pace and the same vista, he had grown bored of the monotone. The God of Mischief had been eager to see whether the bottom of Niflheim’s axis would reveal the presence of Hvergelmir.          

And so to aid their travels he had shown her another of his hamingja. The shapeshifter believed the numbers of his forms to be infinite because he had yet to find something what he could not change into. Shapeshifting in general was considered an ability gifted since birth, you either had it or you didn’t. Shapeshifting and glamours were two different things however. He had both (to an extent) under his power, the latter was based upon the user’s level of magic-wielding. The sorcerer did not know whether changing forms was connected to magic, but he had gotten better at it and it became easier with time.

Different shapes took different amounts of time to achieve. There were some hamingja that seemed almost natural to him (as if they came naturally) and needed no attempts to perfect. It was easier to change into such that were similar to his Aesir body internally (although there were exceptions to that). If it was something that was too far away (bodily wise) from the male, like per example aquatic creatures, then the shifting would not be successful without having necessary knowledge of it prior. So in some cases he would have to study the anatomy of the creature he wished to become. Still there were things that were different from the things he wished to pose as, certain abilities or features he could not copy in exact detail – and he thought that that was impossible anyway. For example: if the royal man wanted to become a specific snake – a deadly poisonous one, the venom he could duplicate (without the aid of spells) but it would not be the same and would be weaker.

Not using a glamour but actually becoming a person was another matter entirely. If he just wanted to turn into a nonexistent somebody, all he had to do was shift and let his mind decide the specifics. So becoming a female version of himself was easy (more than anyone else because it was actually still, in a way, him). But a person, an _existing_ person was high on difficulty. The God of Magic would have to know as much as possible, envision detail into detail – to exactly replicate somebody – and the most minor of declination in copying of the reality could betray him. So usually he just used glamours, difficult spells – but spells nonetheless, because fussing with shifting bones, muscle, skin and even going as far as estimating the right weight – was too much of a hassle.

The Heir’s display of his second hamingja had been met with pure awe and that stroked his pride. He had changed into a large feline and the girl could not tell exactly what it was. The black fur (with the slightest, slightest sheen of green, visible when the haze shifted to allow more light to pass through) was thick and appeared similar to a fox’s in its softness. This form had emerald cat eyes, too close to the envy-green God’s to be anyone else’s. Two extremely long white fangs hung from the beast’s maw and glistened in the light, they made him look saber-toothed.

Even when she had known his intentions prior, it had still surprised her in some way when that detached (not emotionally) voice requested that she get on and hold on tight. She wasn’t much on riding horses, much less on riding huge felines. But she would be riding the Prince (and that thought had sounded funny in her head). However the woman hadn’t said aloud that she was thinking of him as her ‘horsey’.

His fur was as soft as it seemed and she had her hands wound into it tightly. Her legs had been pressed into the shapeshifter’s sides strongly. As he ran, ran so fast, so fast, so fast – she hadn’t even had the ability to keep her eyes open. The nonexistent wind had turned into that of motion and it had made tears stream down her face. It had been both terrifying and thrilling to let her love carry her, alas she could not do anything about the harsh blow of passing wind, so she had hid her face into his onyx furs.

Sigyn had held on tight and so he ran with ease. The God of Trickery had moved quickly and had not slowed even when the fogs began to thicken again. Despite the hindered eyesight he knew in which direction to go, so the mist hadn’t caused him much trouble.

* * *

 

There was something about this kind of running – this animalistic thing that he enjoyed. It created some sort of illusion of freedom, which dampened his perception of the passing of time (although he was keen on his surroundings, always looking out for something potentially dangerous). The God of Deceit had not known exactly how long he had kept this up, but he was aware that her hold on him had not grown lax at any point. His ability to sense time was remarkable, however in this situation, in the run, hours or maybe even days had become vague. The unchanging sky (shrouded by mists) had not helped it, telling day from night was nearly impossible for someone who lacked his natural sensing of such.

He had been in the Primordial World of Ice before, but never had he seen darkness set over it and he lacked the knowledge to tell whether the sun-star of it ever set. There had to be at least some part of the realm where night did set (unless the placement and number of the sun-stars made that impossible), since no planet was inert. But such changes varied from world to world, therefore how frequent the shifting from light to dark was, depended on the realm itself – it could be hours, days, months or years.

When a hint of tiredness had creeped into the God of Lies, he had decided to stop. A sufficient rest later the two younglings had resumed their journey in the same way.

* * *

 

Again the time past was a mystery only susceptible to guesswork. All he was able to tell was that it was shorter than the previous run. Something, an instinct perhaps, told him to not accelerate and begin slowing down.

The fog seemed to change and along with it he shifted back into his real form after telling the girl-woman to dismount. These mists were not moving as capriciously as before, and despite their density – they opened a clear path, allowing the lovers to walk forward without having to cross through them. This made the Godling relate them to the swirls from the bowels of the Unnamed fortress, when those smoky ribbons had inched away from their position as he had touched Sigyn’s skin. However he knew that these two hazes were different from one another because the ones here lacked the kind of ‘mind’ the others had. But thinking about something as ethereal as something that had ‘minds’ was too far from his normal mental processing, it just broke his psyche. If this was how his beloved thought all the time – then he was glad that she did not speak in such ‘cryptic’ ways, sparing him the effort of having to understand what he fully could not.

They edged closer somewhat warily. The fogs became lighter and just floated around mindlessly in smaller streaks as the two drew to a halt. They stopped because of what they saw and both were encompassed by awe. Although on the boy-prince’s side the view was not the source of his fascination, it was actually what it _was_ that had him reacting in this manner. They had found Hvergelmir. The mythical and mystical Well (and she was correct – it was not a well at all), one of the three in the Nine, and they. had. found. it. He could not help but feel awed as he always did when he saw something magical (in the literal sense).      

Not like the vista was not impressive all on its own, but it was not without compare to what he had seen of Yggdrasill. It was a gigantic wall of ice, cropped straight at the top (and the hazes allowed sight of its grandeur), its size made them both feel insignificant. The formation could be called monumental even, and it was stunning. The male reckoned that this was what the ice ages on Midgard looked like, blankets of ice slowly creeping and crushing everything in their path. But he had not seen them himself and neither had his father (well at least not the kind created by natural causes).

But even more impressive were the two things(?) that jutted out from the middle of the icy structure. They were not made of ice (although there was something like that – icicles hung from the two formations, and if not for the snow-whiteness of them, then they might have been confused with actual rivulets of water suspended by the stopping of time) and looked almost like branches of something that had grown (or grew) from within the mountain itself. Although they did not look alive – not anything like branches of a tree would, they looked fossilized. Then again that comparison was also not sufficient in his mind concerning the probable accuracy. The ‘branches’ resembled bones more and that jostled his conscious in a way that told of something that he knew but could not recall presently.

From between the two peculiar forms the waters of Hvergelmir sprung forth, creating the most magnificent of waterfalls. The waters landed in a deep chasm and then extended into a thin thread of a river – but it fell short of being described as one. That was so because the water simply went into the ground – but not in any comprehensible way, it simply disappeared, not into deep the underground, rather it seemed to run just beneath the fluffy moss. Therefore it could still serve true to the saying of this being _the_ mother river of all waters. And this strange water-body was named correctly for it bubbled and boiled obviously – giving reason to exactly why the mists about it were different. No, these were not created by the astral line like the fogs that encased this realm, they were created from the heat of Hvergelmir meeting the cold of the ice wall it originated.

A word that his Lady uttered breathlessly explained (in a way that really didn’t explain much) to him what those strange protruding branches were.

“Eikthyrnir” it was something that she had remembered from the myths about this ‘well’ (although her knowledge of them was truly scarce).

The Heir was carried off by the strong current of a completed puzzle. Those branches were not branches at all. They were horns of a stag – the antlers of a deer. And it was named Eikthyrnir. The legend had it that Hvergelmir sprung forth from between the hart’s horns. And now the God of Mischief understood why it was so – because these formations truly resembled antlers. The name of the ‘creature’ also alluded to their somewhat branch-like appearance – oak-thorny.

The lightness of the revelation was shattered and he furrowed his eyebrows. Some stories were true in their literality, others just metaphorically and some were based on complete mistruth. Whenever he met a myth to be true, he always took it to be the middle option – and he was never wrong (most of the time). However now that he had a broader grasp on the possibilities (the change was brought by seeing the Ash Tree’s roots back in the Unnamed Realms), the young man considered the first option. Could it be possible that this was an actual being? One deceased or encased in ice and hibernating?

While there were plenty of oddities within the Nine, he didn’t consider Eikthyrnir to be real creature. It was because he refused to, which was weird since there wasn’t any reason to do so. Ah, but there was – Sigyn. Loki lied to himself because he did not wish to consider what possible danger could befall her if the monstrous stag would be awakened here and now. But he was never alright with lying to himself (although he often did – as means of mental self-preservation), therefore he tried to find proof to turn it into a truth (as much as was possible anyway).

He scanned it thoroughly again, this time not getting distracted by the magnificence and simply issued a scientific gaze. There was nothing too odd about the white wall of ice – no signs of enchantments that could possibly signify a cage of some kind. The antlers weren’t exactly the same as those on the heads of deer (size aside because he meant the horn texture itself). And most importantly there was no sign of a skull or a head, nor visibly nor in the shape of ice. That quelled him and made the young God believe that the myth came from visual similarity rather than actual fact. Unless of course Eikthyrnir was a creature not anatomically correct; and he pushed back into his subconscious the thought that perhaps these were only the tips of the antlers, which would make the hart even more gigantic.            

At the Vanir’s prompting he told her everything he knew of the ‘deer’. And she appeared to be fascinated both by him and what he told her.

The duo simply gazed at the marvel that was Hvergelmir. The two pairs of eyes had not strayed from the fall of water that was nearly soundless. Despite the quantity of liquid that fell down it didn’t roar as it was supposed to, instead the sound it created was almost lulling.

The second-born Prince estimated that they had spent about a half an hour just looking at the magnificent sight in silence. His brain chimed in telling that it was long enough and so another side of him – the curious magician, took over. Then he felt great irritation at the lack of foresight that this quest involved. He had hoped that they would find the mythical water-body, but he hadn’t actually planned on what he would do once they would locate it. If the man would have known of this prior, he would have studied the ‘Well’ better, looked into what kind of properties the water of it possibly had, alas he was not aware of this and so he could not have prepared accordingly.

He only had several small containers with him – the only equipment he always carried with himself in case something like this would arise. He took one vial, the size of his lover’s pinky finger – if measured from the knuckle (and it was strange that this was the way he measured its length, but not too odd since the young Goddess was his strongest obsession and he knew her body well). The place he removed the container from was his pocket and due to his recent musings – the God of Deceit thought that only at best was the item partially stored in the negative space and mostly it was just compressed by a spell.

The royal male walked closer to the bubbling waterfall. The girl probably understood his intentions as she followed him. Once close enough he was about to kneel on the bank (like everything covered with the softest of mosses) when he felt her ever-changing orbs linger on him.

He turned back to meet them only to be surprised by the fact that he hadn’t noticed her change, at some point of their journey her hair and eyes had decided on shifting their colors. Her locks were of the palest blond and eyes of the iciest blue – and at that revelation he was brought to the theory that perhaps these changes in coloration were somewhat based on camouflage. These hues definitely matched well with their current surroundings. As the female took notice of his stare she offered him a radiant smile, the Godling couldn’t help but smirk back.

He turned back his attention to his other beholder of interest and felt her eyes cease their exploration of his form. As he placed one of his knees on the ground he briefly thought about the fact that he could only bring a small sample of the water to study back in Asgard, it would have to do though – for he had no other options. But he comforted himself by thinking that there was a chance that Hvergelmir held no power that would be of any use to him, and in case it did – he could always come back to gather more of the water.

The God of Magic placed his hand on a slab of ice to find better leverage. He couldn’t feel the melting of ice beneath his palm. His limb didn’t begin to freeze at the contact, nor did his flesh stick to the cold surface and so no layer of skin would be ripped off once the touch would be removed. The Lie God’s hand didn’t feel cold, at least not in the way it should have felt, however it did feel cold – _blue cold_. He shook the thought away and leaned down to allow some water to tip into the container, he was careful not to let any of it touch him (in case it was dangerous or as hot as the bubbling suggested).

Although the tiny bottle appeared to be fragile and made of glass, it was actually very durable. The Trickster God would not even feel the heat (maybe just slight warmth) from it. When he had filled it as much as was possible without risking contact – he place the stopper, leaned back to sit down and visually study the mysterious liquid.

He only managed to form several second’s worth of observations when the vial shattered. The sorcerer cast it away from himself in reflex and was aided with his love’s immediate interference. In panic she tried to yank his body from the glass bottle that had burst into pieces and saved him from the splatter of the possibly hazardous water. As he threw the container further from himself (not a fraction of a second too late) the primal heat emanating from within it had broken the back of his ring. When the tight piece of jewelry loosened in a creation of a gap in the back, it cut into his skin making him hiss. The ring remained generally intact, but his forefinger (not the one the etched symbol of his union rested upon) sported a shallow, red tear in the flesh. Momentarily the God of Mischief was angered by his choice of wearing such a thing in the first place.

The Vanir’s grip on his shoulder remained punishingly tight (although it was so only because she was in a state of frightened shock) but he remained uncaring of it. Loki glared at the shards of glass that were half strewn in the mosses and half sunken in Hvergelmir. He wasn’t as much as angry for the denied possibility of studying the water, as he was for the unexpectedness of the breaking vial. He loathed being wrong. However he mentally shrugged it off: if that was all that the liquid could do – be too hot or maybe even acid-like, then he had no good use for that. The Master Sorcerer could always use some other (even if less potent) acidic concoction or poison, therefore if that was it – then this was not too much of a loss.

The woman’s hold on him loosened only to then squeeze a little to get his attention. The boy-prince looked up towards her, she seemed shaken and breathless (probably with a too loud, too fast beating heart as well), though she tried to smile to him.

“That was close” she noted the obvious, but not from ill will – as she was genuinely glad for the outcome of the possibly disastrous occurrence.  

“Indeed” he remarked dryly and returned to stare cold rage into the broken pieces of the glass container.

The girl-woman stopped herself from asking whether he was alright. Her love seemed fine and her inquiry, judging by the omnipotent frown marring his beautiful features, would probably annoy him. So she opted to sit down behind him and loop her arms about his torso.

The Princess kissed his temple lightly and he thought that this was her silent way of trying to bring him solace. The Heir couldn’t say that it helped, but he really appreciated the gesture, and anyway it was not like he was upset with her. She could do a lot of things, but she couldn’t always manage to lessen his emotional connection with the surrounding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamingja – the altered form of a shapeshifter, also the second meaning is the personification of good fortune/luck for a person or a family/clan.
> 
> Eikthyrnir (oak-thorny) – is a stag and from between its horns water bursts and flows into the Hvergelmir. According to the myths Eikthyrnir stands atop Valhalla and eats the leaves of Yggdrasill, but since that didn't fit my fanfiction – I changed that. Basically here Eikthyrnir is in Niflheim as is Hvergelmir, (and as you have gathered from Loki's musings) it is not specified whether it is a real creature (or used to be one) or if the two antler-like formations are just that – natural formations of some sort.


	25. Springs

**Chapter twenty-five**

**_Springs_ **

Loki and Sigyn had spent a day resting by the Hvergelmir. And while the Prince disliked the dampness that lingered in the air – the presence of his beloved had made it tolerable.

With their objective reached and the novelty of the vista spent, it had seemed to be the time for them to head back. However the Princess had wanted to see what was beyond the monumental wall of ice. While he’d believed that the scenery beyond it would not be anything extraordinary, he had chosen to entertain her wishes. They had enough time to make the venture and there had been something that she wasn’t telling the boy-prince, he had been able to tell by her playful attitude and mysterious smiles that she thought there to be something else worth seeing.

The long walk to reach over the back of the humongous formation had not been strained in silence, there had been conversations of the varying sort. The white wall carved by the nature of Niflheim itself emitted cold and while it wasn’t the coldest of what the realm could offer – it was still cold though. His lover had adorned her sweater, but it appeared to do little to stop her shivers. It was a minor nuisance, therefore the young man had not called forth any great efforts to ease her from the freezing temperature. However that did not mean that he had done nothing, as the direction of the cold air was from the ice mountain itself – he had changed their positions so that he would be closer to it. He had not known by exactly how much blocking the wind with his body aided, but he had done it anyway. The male had looped his arm around the female just to solidify the effect (if there indeed had been any changes created by the shift of sides).  

Something, something about Asgard had pushed the God of Mischief into cold vocal rage. The girl had listened to the ranting Godling and she hadn’t missed a word, but the biggest capturers of her attention were the intense emotions he emanated. It had not been the first for her to hear and see his anger, far from it, but as always it was not directed at her.

The Vanir Goddess had known the Aesir God to be dangerous, his passionate expressions of negativity testified that (of course his actions did not deny that either). She had wondered whether her lack of fear arose from her never being in the path of his destructive hatred. She had also mused at the time of his rant whether it was a foolish sense of security. It was clear that he was her safe-zone, her shadowy protector, alas that did not mean that she was untouchable to his displeasure. Maybe she was overthinking this – the young woman had thought, and maybe not.

She had never doubted his strength, even before their meeting she knew he had power – the type which should have instilled fear (but in Realm Eternal things were so in reverse). The God of Magic was a force to be reckoned with and she felt that he had made true to that (not many knew though – she had added in her mind). If there had been any doubt in her psyche then it was truly obliterated with the information she had just recently gotten from him. It had required quite the grand amount of prodding to get the sorcerer the tell her of Theoric’s true demise. The answers the Lady had gotten were not lies, too well had his silver tongue failed, too worriedly honest were the words. She knew that he had feared her reaction; _the_ torture, the death and _the_ spell – too unforgivable in the minds of the naïve, but she was not that – had been at some point, although not for many ages now.

She hadn’t told him though, what she knew of the people of Vanaheim – a trait she truly inherited. To a fault – she thought mournfully; in her understanding this aspect of the Vanir was the very reason of their loss in the Aesir-Vanir wars. This mentality came with a saying – an eye for an eye (oh but her kinsmen had known that equal retaliation never brought peace, however that kind of peace had never been their goal). And while the girl-woman had not been given reason to yearn for revenge against her ‘betrothed’ (and thank Norns, she was intact in mind, body and soul because of that fact and the intervention of her love) still she had emulated a similar hatred against the man (just without the actual shattering of what she was).

Why blame someone who saved you? Why care for how it was done? These two questions with absolute answers were something she had not needed to spend hours or even minutes contemplating. The God of Deceit was justified in her world of mind, but that did not mean that she had to agree that it had been a ‘fitting’ punishment. No, there was no negativity that she could push onto the Throne Heir. Still, she had thought that even half of what had happened would have sufficed. Torture – depending on how the executioner (Loki) felt, death – a certain necessity, the soul erasing – not necessary, the other soldiers’ demise – collateral damage, poor things – but a required sacrifice. For the matter of the next-to-last mention on that list then she truly didn’t think that she had required that much saving, but her response had been only a mental shrug. And for the last, then any embers of conscience were snuffed with the reminder of how many Vanir, _innocent_ Vanir, whole _families_ had been slayed by Asgardians in the war. And oh, there had been little of that on their side because in reality the root of those armed conflicts was the expansion of Asgard. Vanaheim had been on defense (and a valiant one it had been), therefore very few of the war-nonrelated Aesir had fallen. So with the near extinction of a whole race at the one end of the scale – the deaths of few, plus a handful of warriors (when comparing to the general numbers of Realm Eternal’s armies) did not make much of a change in the heavily outweighed balance. Maybe the Goddess of ‘fidelity’ would have reconsidered if she’d been in either the murder of her ‘fiancé’ or the wars (she very much doubted that about the latter), but she had not been present and so the topic had been left for dead in her head.

The God of Lies had been spewing random heated accusations, demands and complaining of the unfairness of it all – concerning matters that Sigyn cared little about (but she did care for the Godling’s wellbeing, so in a sense she did care even if she hadn’t been listening to the words very attentively). She had considered the possibilities of them arguing with this spirit being on his side. They had argued – yes, but even when from aside their bickering could have appeared to be vivid or dangerous, in all actuality it was playful. Never did they greet any matter that would force them to vocally claw and spit venom into each other’s faces. It would probably be just wishful thinking – she had decided, that a fiery confrontation would never occur between them. So far there had been nothing to indicate them having the capacity to truly enrage one another. But in the end of those thoughts she had shaken them away with the thinking that she would have to deal with what she was dealt then when the cards would be dealt – not before. The Vanir Princess did not have a reason and did not want a reason to begin considering the Lie God as something else than her beautiful and loved-more-than-anything pet, his claws were for others and she would sharpen them (and her own) if need be (or just as a precaution). That had been the way she threw the churning musings out into the deep space.    

* * *

 

The time spent walking counted more than several hours past. And while their path promised to be long, the royal male had not changed into any of his hamingja. It was not that he could not do it, for a gifted shapeshifter such as he – it was not a task that demanded an outrageous amount of energy. There were two main reasons why he had chosen not to use the ability. One was because he doubted that his lover was used to horse-riding (seeing as she always travelled on foot) and without such experience – riding anything was taxing and did leave its marks. So while saddle sores were not quite the problem, riding something without such equipment only added to the strain of a (presumably) untrained rider that the Lady was. It was also a possibility that he _might_ have constantly diminished her recuperation and healing abilities throughout their relationship, but still in his mind it was clear that if she wasn’t sore now (or no longer sore) then she would be after another ride.

The second reason was that he’d hoped that she would shorten their journey all on her own, using the boundary-denying ability that she was quite good at. Given if he wouldn’t distract her too much, maybe the girl would unconsciously get them around the great ice wall faster. Therefore all that had been left was to rely on their feet – not that the young God minded too much.

With that out of the way he had managed to trek in relative silence. But the figurative burden of not knowing _where_ they were going just got heavier with each minute that had fallen into oblivion. And, as it happened quite frequently, his curiosity got the better of him. Because really he didn’t care for the probability of finding whatever they were currently searching for (they had found Hvergelmir with stunning ease, so he could not fault the half-blood Vanir’s senses). If they had managed to find a mythical Well (waterfall/river actually) then it wasn’t very ridiculous even if she now wanted to find some mythical creature. So the Heir asked, being too riled up to swallow the inquiry.

“What are we looking for exactly?”

The female heard him of course and her first reaction was to turn her head to the side rather than meet his gaze. The male had almost expected to be given sight of more of that elusive behavior she had shown before, however she did answer, looking somewhat... embarrassed? And at that moment he was sure that this was based on a _feeling_ more likely than anything else. But that did not matter, not really, for so far she had been impressively accurate in her ethereal sensation based theories. And furthermore – the chances of him changing his mind once hearing the answer were pretty much nonexistent. They had actually sought out Hvergelmir, so going on a wild goose chase (on the nonexistent kind of geese) was quite acceptable.

“Well...” she drew out the word. “I didn’t want to tell you because it was really such a random thought, improbable even...”

“Oh, so what was it?” he egged her on, his patience being long lost.

“Well... You see, we’ve found the Mother River and... I just thought that we should search for the Spring” she watched his eyes for another second after her answer was spoken aloud and then turned her flustered features away from his line of sight.

It was clear that the young woman had thought of Niflheim’s magical ‘Well’ as a dual thing, and in her strangely brilliant mind she believed there to be _more_ of it somehow. While he left that part of her idea alone without thoroughly dissecting it with his unmerciful mental capacity, there were still inconsistencies with her theory that begged him to question them in her presence.

“But then should not that spring or springs be somewhere down the river’s stream? Why are we heading behind the source to look for it?” the God of Lies did not mean to sound condescending – because he wasn’t scrutinizing her plan, therefore he tried to intonate the inquiries as innocently curious as possible.

She did not misinterpret his tone and her response was firmer. Seeing as she wasn’t rebuffed, her answer sounded very assured, but the content of it wasn’t something without room for doubt – the contradiction was just too endearingly _Sigyn_.

“Dunno. I just think that that’s where it is”

Loki chuckled quietly at that.

“Alright then”

And although her answers weren’t informative in the least; no elaborate or thrilling new objective given – they still sated his need to know, that was all that he needed anyway.

* * *

 

Fortunately the Asgardian Prince was correct in his calculation and with his companion’s determination she had unconsciously used her power. They found themselves in the center of the ice wall’s back and not the side as they should have. The two Gods left Hvergelmir behind them and the oppressing mists that it emanated. A good while later, when the capricious fog had finally let up, they stopped.

He tried not to feel too surprised by the sight that stood before them. It was not quite a spring that they had located but rather a plentitude of water-bodies – small and large, and what seemed to be moors stretching as far as the hazes allowed sight.

The woman’s reaction was a joyous grin thrown his way and he couldn’t force himself not to smirk back. Whether these hot springs were part of the mystical river mattered little because they were simply _there_ where she had predicted they would be. Truly it was another reason to believe her to be the Goddess of Victory, combined with her Vanir senses she seemed to be beyond lucky in her guesses.

There was nothing extraordinary about the scenery, nothing that he had not seen before. But it did not matter just as it wasn’t important whether these water-bodies were part of Hvergelmir (well by the idea all waters were spawned by it, but he meant the possible proprieties of it), his love’s joy was enough for him to believe this to be a successful day.

With measured steps they approached one of the nearest larger waterholes. The Dark Godling was so distracted by the idea that maybe these were safe enough for him to get the sample he so wished to attain – that he didn’t see her kneel by the spring. The girl-woman allowed her hand to hover above the surface, inspecting the temperature. Finding it harmless enough she dipped her limb underneath the liquid.

He had turned his attention to her just as she carelessly allowed her hand to be submerged in the water. It was as if she had forgotten how the vial he had taken before had shattered. With an angry hiss he made the motion to yank her away but was stopped by her melodic voice.

“The water’s perfect” she informed him, sounding extremely happy.

The man’s hands were on her shoulders, just a second away from pulling her to him and away from the tiny lake, and relaxed only when she had removed her wet limb. He sighed heavily as she hummed in appreciation of her findings. A comparison was born in his stressed mind, one that he had never wanted to make. At the moment he attested to her something that he often did to Thor (and he never wanted to find similarities between his brother and the Vanir Lady). He did not know whether she was bravely foolish or foolishly brave (it just seemed to be one and the same but it was not). And it shouldn’t have been too strange, after all she did travel uncharted territories with only a dagger, some magic and luck as her guides and caretakers. Still it didn’t sit well with him that she could act so brainlessly.

The God of Trickery released her shoulders from his captivity as she made the motion to rise up. He glared, not liking the idea of letting her out of his sight for another moment – who knew what trouble she could get into? He observed but a step away (ready to just carry her away if she did something foolish again). He saw her raise her hands in order to get rid of the sweater she wore.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, being much too upset to sound civil.

“What does it look like?” she answered with a question, tone indicating the obviousness of her intentions.

Of course the Trickster God knew what she planned on doing. It was only wishful thinking to assume that she was only relieving herself of the garment because it was no longer that cold for her to need it.

He scowled as he wracked his brain for a way to rid her of the stupid idea, in a manner that would be convincing to his peculiar ‘wife’ (or maybe just a comeback would suffice, if it were only enough to distract her with being angry with him). However he wasn’t fast enough as she regarded him with annoyance clear in her blue eyes and said.

“Aren’t you going to undress? Or should I just push you into the water clothed?”

The God of Deceit just grimaced more.

“You are not going to swim there.” his voice was meant to sound final but she interpreted it to be just an insect-sized resistance.

“And why shouldn’t I?”

“Because you have no idea of what the effects of the waters are!” he sneered. “And recklessly you had tested it! It is fine now, but there is no way to be certain that there won’t be any side effects after a while and risking having that all over your body is foolish beyond belief!”

She looked him over as if he were an obnoxious child who was throwing a tantrum just because he was denied to play with his favorite toy. Completely unfazed by (what she categorized as) his childish behavior she responded with fraying patience.

“The water is fine and it will be fine. The only question here is whether you are joining me, leaving or am I supposed to drag you together with me?”

“Had you not hear what I said?! That water can be potentially dangerous and I will have to keep an eye on that hand of yours to make sure that you are alright!”

“I heard what you said. I am fine and I will be fine. Now don’t be a coward and come on”

He crossed his arms appearing utterly unimpressed by her firmness on the topic. He shot a simmering look her way, knowing full well that the female registered it.

“Do you honestly believe that by calling me a coward that will entitle me to act like one? You will not accomplish anything by throwing taunts or dares my way”

She shrugged.

“I’m not saying that you are a coward, but you are. You’re acting like one now”

He glared and she only smiled in return. With a giggle she shook her head, the girl knew that her lover did not lack bravery.

“Suit yourself, Loki. You are overthinking it, everything is going to be fine. You can stick around and see for yourself because one way or another – I am going to soak in this lovely spring. And. you. can’t. do. anything. about. it”

“Oh, I can, do not doubt that, Sigyn” the Trickster said smugly.

“You can” she agreed. “But you won’t”

“And why is that?”

She continued undressing while she replied to his question. Their ‘argument’ had turned playful.

“Heck, I don’t know. I have no idea why you won’t but you won’t”

He gave her the best incredulous look he had in his arsenal and she only found it to be comical. The Lady continued to undress undeterred. The male let out a sigh that was worth ten hollowed trees that had caught wind inside them. He wanted to stop her (and oh, he could) but true to her words he decided not to – feeling slightly defeated.

It was most reasonable for him to stay and watch her (although giving her freedom to do as she pleased led him to believe that it was highly unlikely to have her stay close to the bank) and if something were to go wrong – he could always quickly get her out and then try to fix whatever that would not be right. So it was not wise to join her because that way both of them could be in danger. But he thought that perhaps he was a tad paranoid (understatement of the century) over this, especially given the fact that he had trusted the young Goddess’s judgment concerning the black pool in the Unnamed Realms.

Both Godlings stayed in their undergarments (it was not _that_ kind of activity that they were planning on engaging). To him it was endearing – the mismatching colors of the pieces of her underwear, both were covered in quirky patterns. The God held the Goddess’s hand as she entered the hot spring, he would have gone first himself if that would not have proved that he had been riled up by her taunts. He joined once both of her feet were securely on the ground of the spring.

The water was shallow, just a bit above his ankles, but it deepened gradually. When the Heir was chest-deep the temperature managed to wrench out a hiss from him. It was hot – not overbearingly so, alas still above what he would have categorized as warm. The liquid surrounding him did not prove to be any more suspicious now that he had treaded into it. The clean but murky (due to its lack of translucency) water did not bubble quite as ominously as Hvergelmir.

The girl walked while she still could. The liquid that filled this hole did not unsettle her. But her love’s warnings had spurned on an uncharacteristic double take on it. She thought more about it then she would have (for she trusted her instincts without questioning, most of the time), but found nothing worthy to be wary of. The only thing that she didn’t feel too certain about was the possibility of unknown creatures swimming underneath, although as much as she could tell there were none – at least at this depth. The overthinking made her imagine slimy critters inhabiting the warm mud her feet sunk in, squirming between her toes – but that was only an illusion created by her mind and she knew that there was nothing like that beneath her.

With a keen eye and never too far behind, the Prince swam following the Vanir. She didn’t go far and it turned out that she probably wasn’t interested too much in swimming the spring across and back of its entirety, for she stopped without even reaching the third of its length. Turning to the side she languidly reached it and rested her arms on the bank (thankfully there weren’t any water-grasses to disallow her approach).

The young man joined her momentarily. He was rewarded with a brilliant smile from her.

“I told you that the water’s perfect” she said dreamily.

No denial or affirmative was offered. Yes, it wasn’t bad (although it wasn’t exactly perfect), but he’d be damned to show his capitulation so readily.

The God of Mischief guessed that this was what she had intended to do – to simply soak in the water. The female had stopped just beside a tree that half-fell into the water (it appeared to have been chopped rather than broken by wind, thunder or something of the sort, because at least a half of it was missing and the cut was quite clean). The dead plant was definitely not a pine, perhaps a willow of some kind, and by the state of some remaining leaves he could guess that it had fallen quite recently. As his hands almost blindly searched under the water for any branches of the tree that he could sit onto, he found that the bark was covered with moss (the feel of it was strange but not unpleasant) – so maybe the fall hadn’t been as recent as he’d estimated.

Soon the Godling found that there was a large branch that he could rest upon – and so he did. He shot his lover a questioning look when she used the tree to climb somewhere. She sat down behind him, a bit higher than him and she was in the water up to her stomach. Questions weren’t issued – if Sigyn wanted to sit there, let her, it promised to be a comfortable position. And he wasn’t wrong about that.

The Princess wound her legs around his torso and the Lie God’s hands instantly took to caressing them. Her arms also found their way about his neck and she pressed a kiss to his temple. He really didn’t mind her – his small creature, coiling around him like this. Her wet front was flush against his back, making him exhale forcefully through his nose from pure delight. Her breasts pressed into him and while without the brasserie it would have been better – there really wasn’t any reason to complain.

The God of Deceit thought that it wouldn’t get any better. However he changed his mind when she drew back – that retraced loads from the pleasantness he felt and then quickly there was another change – it felt good, good, good... The girl-woman’s hands clasped his shoulders and squeezed, the pressure – firm but soft. She began kneading his muscles and what, what – but he wasn’t expecting her to massage him. The royalty of Realm Eternal hadn’t really realized how tense he was until her divine touch descended upon him. It felt as if she knew where to press and how hard to press to alleviate him from the strain his body was unknowingly laced with. It was relaxing and he yielded to the sensation just enough to feel without burden, but not enough to lose all awareness of his surroundings.

At that moment the God of Lies couldn’t be bothered with caring whether this hot spring was directly of Hvergelmir or if it had the most amazing healing abilities in the Nine Realms. Because it could have been that and had that, but it would be bested by the Vanir Goddess’s touch – for him it was the best remedy in the Universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, this is me again, this time not explaining any terms but just a random tidbit of information (which you may know or may not care for at all). This is for those who like small bits of random stuff :)
> 
> I shall further elaborate on this line: "The male let out a sigh that was worth ten hollowed trees that had caught wind inside them" – this is not just a totally random thing about trees making sound, actually hollowed-out trees (that have rotted inside) let out howling sounds when wind gets trapped in them. I do not think that I have ever heard such a thing, but it is described as very loud and ominous. In fact, ages ago when people were not aware of that – they had believed that those howls were made by some huge beasts that lived in the woods.
> 
> (...Yes, completely useless info, you are free to move on now...)


	26. Retaliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m wondering whether these scenes are becoming too frequent... However this one had to be written – because the character of Loki demanded it. And honestly, this was the first time a story ever demanded to be written down in any other way than I had thought prior. After chapter twenty-two (Ritual) it just came to me that this also had to become part of my fic, it was just against Loki’s character to leave him without getting a ‘revenge’.
> 
> This is not at all what I am used to writing, love-scenes out of love – is not quite my forte or my preference (if there are any of you who have read my fics from other fandoms – such as Mirror Bound or Possessing the Possessor – then you know what I am talking about). The main focus of those scenes there is mind-fuck (psychological nuances) rather than the sex itself. Alas love-scenes will not disappear from Prophecies (to the discontentment or perhaps to the joy of the readers). There should be at least one scene of the sexual nature of my preferred, heavy on ‘psychology’ stuff – although it is far from occurring.

**Chapter twenty-six**

**_Retaliation_ **

 

 

The food supplies the two successfully adventuring Godlings had brought from Vanaheim (because there was little sustenance in the Primordial World) were enough to last them at least half a week, therefore they had decided to stay another day in the moor-like land of Niflheim.

In the same monochrome dyed afternoon (the time was deduced by prudent guessing) they were planning another languorous soak in one of the springs. However Loki had other, secret ideas in mind. Sigyn had completely let down her guard over what had happened on that altar in her ancestral realm, so it was the perfect time for him to act.

The Trickster was not aware whether at the moment what was to happen occurred as if decided by fate or whether it was initiated by him. The idea was his but as always it seemed that his Goddess knew the exact second it was decided. It did not really matter for she was unaware of his wicked schemes – and that was enough. It was completely unimportant if he was not the spark between them himself, and if the fire had caught flame because of something unexplainable. All he cared for was the ‘now’, and the ‘now’ had his lover as the epicenter of everything that made him who he was.

The God of Trickery actually had to try and keep his maleficent plans from seeping too quickly into reality or overpowering his mind – even if without touching his actions. He had to maintain thus so, in case she was more aware of his mentality due to their crazy and impossible connection. If she were to find it out, she would attempt to stop him, sway him in a way that she’d deem would garner the most wanted outcome for her. And that would make everything so much more complicated, it would ruin the surprise. The Golden Throne Heir wished her to know that he was not as tame as she presumed him to be, he would introduce her to his mischievous ways (with her being the victim of the pleasure of course).    

His kisses were sweet (just like the lies he was so famed for), his touches innocent – so contradicting of his mind. But he had to, he _had_ to keep his eagerness at bay, even if the giddiness itself felt that it had been left to ferment for too long. But best ploys were like wine – they needed time and patience to age to perfection.

The man’s hands slipped underneath the young woman’s shirt, cold and spidery digits dancing along her flesh. She gave him the purest smiles of a contented kitten. She kissed his neck (with him standing straight that was all that she could reach) while he explored. Careful movements rid her of the blouse. The actions of them both were not clumsy, they were fluid and natural (even if with hidden intent on one end).

His fingertips were trailing the exposed skin of her breasts, so beautifully fluffy due to the garment that covered them. He reached for her back in order to remove the colorful brasserie. The enchantments used to keep it in place moved away without much resistance from his probing energy and he easily undid the lacing that held it.

Once her torso was bare, his hand splayed itself onto her lower back and tilted her as if in a dance. The Vanir’s leg was hooked behind his own in order to retain perfect balance. His mouth worshipped her freed mounds with tenderness. That didn’t last however because he could _feel_ her demand of ridding him of his clothing too. And while her quiet mewls were the best of music, he did not dare to fail to comply with her unsaid request.

Soon their clothes were history, moved by magic into their tent, which was well away from sight. The lovers themselves were on the ground that was covered in lush moss. The Lady was on her back but she made no motion to gain a position with more power over him – just like he wanted it to be.

The young prince broke the endearing kiss to look at her. They had never made love in complete darkness, but they hadn’t quite seen each other nude for long in such lighting. It was always flickering dim light in darkness (whether that of candles, inside-burning crystals or evening in torchlight). The sky of Niflheim, where the sun-star/stars never seemed to set – was as close to daylight as they’d gotten. It wasn’t bright enough to contort everything and blind, but it was bright enough (in a grayish kind of way) to leave no room for shadows to play. The girl noticed his gaze and he caught sight of the blush that was sign of her reaction to the sheer intimacy. She too glanced to his naked body and the flush only deepened and he felt only smugness and a complete lack of modesty at that.

Her hands were on her ribcage (thankfully not obscuring his view of her lovely exposed breasts) nearly, _nearly_ but not quite nervously playing with a lock of her reddening hair. The color of her hair shifting, with a smirk he met her eyes to determine if there was any change there. And sure enough while her orbs were not the wicked, midst-passion mischievous green, they were teal and that was close enough.

With a purse of his lips the God of Lies allowed his hand to slide down her delicate torso, the pale skin shining in its purity. Her delicate stomach dipped under his slowly travelling fingers and her breath was held back. And like always, like always her legs were shut and turned in such a fashion that would allow very little for his fiery eyes to catch. _No, no, no, spread your legs for me, love_ – he thought.

He knew that his watching and tiny, reserved touches were beginning to irritate her. The girl-woman wanted his loving, not his overpowering observing of her nude form. And the Lie God was going to give her that, not just enough – but _too much_ of that.

His silver tongue in her mouth and her fingers tangled in his raven-black hair, his hand ventured downwards. It stopped just below her navel. The Master of Magic could do this later, but in case he’d be too preoccupied, too distracted – he opted to cast the spell now. He was aware that the female had ceased bleeding her moon blood and that right now she was infertile, but the God of Magic didn’t like talking any risks (and considering the strangeness of the Vanir, possibilities were often endless).

He moved his lips to her neck and paused mid bite – remembering that despite how right it felt, he still had to go along with the lie. So the bite of the God of Deceit remained a careful nibble. Soon his maw enveloped the tip of her right mound, just beneath which her heart was beating steadily. He sucked a bit harder than he should have, but she was not alarmed into understanding his true intentions. The mewls were lovely and the same loveliness was held by the unhappy sound – the letting go of that hardened peak – inspired. He gave the same attention to the left one – not having it in him to deny the other of the loving.

Long licks were offered as if a sacrifice to Gods given by mortals and it did not matter that he was a God himself because he was paying tribute to the Goddess of _Perfection_. She was rivaled by none and anchored his Universe about herself, unknowingly – he added. The Godling’s hand strayed beneath her form, clasping her neck from behind and forcing Sigyn to arch for him. His wicked tongue then made his way across the divine path between her pert breasts and upwards across her strained neck to the tip of her chin.

Her dainty hands were caressing his back as he gave his attention without respite. With strange glee he smirked as one of her nails – a broken one (most possibly that had occurred at some point when she had slipped on ice and grasped for things to hold onto blindly) had caught his skin, which was nearly shining in its luminescence. The young man felt so peculiarly probably because it was a noticed imperfection that didn’t make her less perfect. Perfection (even with all its imperfections) was undisputed and who was he to fight against such a constant of his life?

He kissed his way downwards her lithe body, malicious in mind but not in action (not yet but soon). The sorcerer briefly wondered whether he should restrain her (magical binds were not difficult to conjure), but chose to leave her in a falsely calm state and not trouble her with things that could betray what he wanted to do without interference. He would stifle her fighting with overload, if he did everything quickly enough, then too much pleasure would leave her unable to protest – and he would not give the female Vanir enough time to gather her bearings.

Hands tickling the small corset of her ribs they passed by slowly and then settled on her hips. And he knew, he knew that just a second more and he would hear, see or feel her dismay in some way. She wasn’t foolish so she would be swift in adding his direction with a possible intention – and he wished not a word to escape her, in plea or demand that he would stop.

The boy-prince’s fingers slipped to her inner thighs so that he could pull her legs apart. And too late did she realize what he intended to do. Only a scratch born from panic landed on his retreating shoulder and a “Lo” that was the beginning of his name managed to erupt silently from her plump lips. That was all that she had pressed out because her body snapped up in a delicate arc as his devious tongue was dragged over the tender flesh peeking from between her folds.

The Princess’s legs were bent at knee-point and they clenched powerfully, but his hands held tightly to keep them steady. By the motion it was easy to tell that her body didn’t know what to do: whether to pull away and get away – as the mind dictated or to relax and enjoy the offerings fully as it wanted.

Loki lost his game of deceit and only brought his tongue over twice, slowly but forcefully. The miniscule pause garnered a frightened coo from his lover, but he held her in place as she tried to shift away. Maybe as a token of solace or maybe simply because of a whim, he pressed a quick kiss to her lower belly. He meant no harm and while they would enjoy this differently, the fact remained that they would _both_ enjoy it (whether she wanted pleasure delivered like this or not, which was clear that she didn’t, but it was alright since it was pleasure anyway).

His grip remained firm and disallowing even a hint of escape, so without wasting any time (in case she’d figure something to change anything) he let his silver tongue prod her smooth mound. The wet appendage was already elongated and snake-like in idea, as it gave her fast and thorough licks. This didn’t entertain the God of Mischief for long and he moved lower still.

As the long tongue entered her insides, setting to probe harsher and faster than she would have preferred (that is, given if she would have any preferences concerning something she didn’t like ideologically), the woman squirmed terribly. He didn’t think that it hurt her badly (he was entirely too scared of that), but it had to be uncomfortable (also not something he necessarily liked). But all would be well since he was plotting on making sure that she would be comfortable for the entire ride, as soon as her physique would allow. The dark-haired Prince’s digits were pressing into her thighs, having to deal with involuntary tremors that shook the Lady’s body. His tongue was curling and moving to and fro swiftly, going against resisting tightness.

He had so much that he wanted to take from her, so many ideas that it was staggering to be focused into just one. Therefore he ceased before he was able to push her over the clouds (much to her misguided relief). The male raised his head to look at her defiantly and was met with her teal eyes that revealed to him her capitulation, it was as if she was silently telling him that she had had enough and that he had proven his point – there was no need to continue. However he thought – on the contrary, he was far from being done and what was the saying again, ah yes – all is fair in love and war (well, that had to extend into love making too).

The emerald orbs of his shone in mischievousness as he flicked a taunt peak of her breast between his thumb and middle finger – as a sign of victory. The God was answered with indignant anger emanating from her, but he was agile enough in action to escape her renewed wrath. He ducked his head between her legs and swiftly took the swelling flesh into his mouth. The instant and hard sucking earned a magnificent jolt from her physique and a spasm from her legs (once more under the control of his hands).

It was an obvious keening sound (a mix of agreement – her body’s courtesy, and of disagreement – her mind’s protest) that escaped the confines of the girl’s throat. Alas Asgard’s Heir wanted more – so he swirled the tip of his serpentine tongue over the key – her clitoris.

He sucked and licked (and thoroughly loved doing so too) until she fell and she fell hard. Her climax wracked her body in waves, with gasps and probably stars in her vision too.

The Lie God gave her a moment to cool (but no more than a moment), he needed her to remain moderately coherent – after all, they were just getting started. The ‘respite’ wasn’t much of one, for he still licked her quivering flesh and gained slightly dismayed sounds when she was back from her high. He knew how hypersensitive she was, oh he knew that alright, just as he was aware that right now his attentions brought only discomfort with shocking jolts of overwhelming pleasure. And despite all that knowledge the God of Lies still pressed an insistent wet kiss to the puckered flesh, his reward being a full-body flinch.

He waited until she was back from the stars and somewhat grounded in her form, before he made his next move. Two fingers slipped into her core and he smirked at the clench her shocked insides gave him. The pace set was somewhere between perfectly slow and overbearingly fast. By the way her hands tugged at the moss and the way the female looked at him it was obvious that she wanted him closer. She wished to wind her hands about the Godling and he could tell that she thought that with this they would soon join. But what was she if not wrong?...

It took time for her body to adjust and she consciously made a tentative if a little bit messy buck. It was a sign that she was comfortable with what he was doing and would (in defeat) comply with his objective. With the air of an innocent misinterpretation (although it was anything but that) he changed the rhythm into a faster one.

Her form squirmed as his actions overwhelmed her and she made no more attempts at thrusting back. Quite steadily she climbed the mountain of pleasure again and crashed in her fall. The Goddess was a sight to behold: cherry red hair like spilt blood around her; fluttering delicate lashes like frantic dying butterflies; trembling lips allowing mewls to escape like last whispers and a body beyond her ability to control, spasming involuntarily – a marvel like no other – that was what she was. And she was _his_ and no one else’s. The force of his hand pushed her whole physique into swaying and he couldn’t have stopped even if he’d have wanted to (which he didn’t).

The transition from heavens above to earth below was complete, but the mischievous one did not cease. The Vanir beneath shuddered and groaned mournfully at the contact that was no longer as pleasant as it was counted minutes prior. His poor, poor baby let out an abandoned puppy cry, but if he would have shushed her – he would have been denying the obvious, he was not planning to stop soon.

The Princeling added his thumb to her torture, pressing down on her clit. His two digits worked relentlessly and sooner than before she lost her ability to stare him down in a begging manner. He was hardly merciful – he was cruel, uncaring even as without the bidding thought her head started trashing from left to right. Chants of ‘no more, no more’ and ‘too much, too much’ were heard in an illusionary fashion, perhaps that was what her psyche was occupied with or maybe that was only his twisted self adding.

Never before had he made her louder than her usual quiet exclamations when he wasn’t even _within_ her, but now she shouted as she climaxed. Her inner muscles squeezed his fingers and oh, had she messed with the wrong man. Unrelenting, he continued pushing into her weeping core, feeling all gleeful and triumphant.

A fall done right and over with, but he removed his appendages too soon from her tightness. Little experience the God of Deceit may have had with physical pleasure, but enough knowledge of his love’s body to be aware that such a rough removal was nothing other if not heavily uncomfortable for her. And the cry that this swift and harsh abandoning of her insides tore out from her – was only a confirmation. Still he reveled in the idea of her core clenching around something that was no longer there and the emptiness that she now felt. It was so highly satisfactory because he was going to be the savior from her misery (although it was debatable whether his methods would not go against her wishes, lies – of course they would). The God of Mischief would not let her suffer for long, not long would it be until he would be filling her up with something once more.

Her chest was rising up and down in frightening speed, her breath heaving and her physique shaking. He could feel it, it was difficult to describe though, what power related emotions it roused from him – the shocks that travelled through his hands. And she was oh so terribly sensitive now, surely she would climax even quicker. The royal man clucked his tongue in appreciation. His green orbs traveled down her glistening sweat covered skin and he hadn’t thought it possible for that simply ravish-able flesh between her nether lips to swell more, however it had done so and he knew how delicious it would be to indulge once more. Her physique had given out, bones seemingly liquefied, and if not for his grasp on her – the girl would have been utterly spread out before him.

Once her breathing was more of what it was supposed to be, through panic stricken eyes she observed him. His renewed hold on her thighs and the evil gleam in his eyes (all too familiar by now) told her that he was not trough with her yet. This time she shook her head consciously mouthing out little no’s. Sigyn looked so helpless and so adorable to him and Loki bit his tongue between his teeth as he grinned fiendishly. Her teal orbs looked too big for her sharp-lined yet terrified face – an endearing image.

In blind fright of more pleasure than she could handle to be delivered onto her once more, she tried to say something. The bewitching woman only got to the ‘k’ of his name as it was cut off by a startled yelp caused by the Prince beginning to lap at the entrance of her drenched core. And was his little lover frantic, her form squirming as if with the dregs of the energy that remained within, trying to put up a fight but without knowing how to be rid of the pleasure-giving torturer.

His gifted mouth befell the swollen, engorged flesh once more, beginning to suck with such force that it knocked her screams into the soundless versions of themselves. And for a while her body remained metaphorically boneless with only slight shocks running through her that he could detect. All the boy-prince had to do was hold her to keep her legs from falling, but as she erratically grew closer to the peak he so desired to push her over, he began to hold her in order to quell the spams of her legs again.

He fantasized about her tangling her fingers into his black hair and pushing him forcefully into her – in order to gain her release. And he wouldn’t mind that sort of domineering from her. He would fall to his knees for _his Queen_ (such a title in his inner-world was only hers to hold) without questions asked. Alas she would not do so, as she found it too distasteful and wrong in some strange way. Therefore this kind of delivery of pleasure, given with the use of his mouth – was forever his to enforce. How peculiar it was, that _kneeling_ for her was only a way to control her – and not the polar opposite, as it should have been by the idea.

It was a risky move to add more stimulation (she already clearly could not handle the load of it), but that was his objective. So the sinister male added two of his digits inside her. He moved them fast and harsh and sooner than she could bear, he carefully slipped a _third_ in too. With the mindful arranging of the appendages, the vocal answer did not portray great pain on the girl-woman’s side and the tightness did not fight the stretch much.

The second-born Heir groaned against her mound, trying not to break his pattern of suction. She clenched about his digits wonderfully, ascending sporadically towards the high. And her inside was so tight, so wet, so hot – and he... he was so painfully, painfully hard. It was so unbearable. Each spasm that gained power by the count, riled him. It should have been him she was squeezing so tightly, not his damned fingers! That made him suck at her ferociously and her spine bent in a strained angle as she kept crying out.

And the Asgardian God was so _deprived_ , so _painful_ that his mind offered an outrageous and shameless idea – that he would just touch himself, bring some amount of relief. He only mentally hissed at the ludicrousness of the thought. The Trickster God wanted _her_ , to be _inside_ of _her_ – and he was not going to be petty in his desires! The anger that he felt at himself seeped into his actions – his fingers were rammed continuously into the Princess’s overdriven core so roughly and so fast, the very knuckles of his hand were beginning to become drenched with her overflowing fluids.

She shattered in her climax unexpectedly and her insides grasped at his digits so hard it was difficult for him to continue moving them. Her high was fast in reaching but slow in ebbing, and this time he stilled his hand carefully – in echo of her dying clenches. The Silver Tongue pulled his mouth away, not daring to press a taunting kiss. He kept his fingers inside of her for long minutes, removing them only when her physique’s negative response would be the mildest.

After this though, the existence of bones was nearly a memory. With the Trickster’s hold momentarily disappearing – there was nothing left to steady her. The Lady panted heavily, trying to catch a breath in vain. Her eyes danced frantically beneath closed eyelids, the darkness of the abyss-like pleasure receding lethargically and having nothing to do with her shut orbs.

He leaned down over her and absentmindedly caressed her shoulder – the gesture was affectionate, but he doubted whether she registered much of it. When the woman came back enough to regard him with a moderate level of coherency, he did not find what her eyes showed him to be selfish. She wanted their loving to end here and their union itself to not occur at all – that was how far he had pushed her, overworked her so much. And if the young man would not have been so determined to see this to through to the end, then he would have forgone his own pleasure without much conflict. However he wanted to end their game the way he had planned and so he had no intention of stopping now.

As the Dark Prince pulled away she mourned his loss audibly, dreading the possibilities of what his clever and treacherously-minded psyche could spawn. He settled his weight onto his knees and took her legs onto his forearms, lifting her slightly off the ground. He arranged her most favorably and he could tell from her expressions and sounds that this wasn’t a position she liked. It was highly exposing and made her feel extremely vulnerable – and he had chosen it exactly for these reasons (even if now just a miniscule part of him wanted to concede to her wishes).

It was ungraceful the way he had to use his hand to align their bodies. A strained hiss escaped him as he was forced to touch his hard and painfully-sensitive length. He thrust into her hard and fast and the connection fired into life as if it had never been broken at all. If this bizarre tie that linked them would have been more in the tangible reality, he would have described the joining moment as a myriad of blinding colors. His head snapped back at the sheer force of it and he couldn’t help the startled sound that was wrenched free from the confines of his throat.

The God of Trickery felt no vivid pain echoing from his beloved, only pleasure that went both ways. And while she was still stretched by the intrusion, it was easy due to just how much he had agonized over her form prior. With great effort on his side – for he wanted so bad to just stay in place and revel at the tight heat, he began moving in an insanely forceful, outdrawn but quick pace. He hoped that he wouldn’t spill himself from it – the sensations were just that overwhelming.

He continued thrusting hard into the Goddess without slowing and having to fight for breath more valiantly as the time trickled by. And a while later as her quiet cries went hoarser and hoarser – they went quiet in their entirety, but sounds still remained – not his though (although a groan here and there was lost into the audible world). With their position, as he pushed into her, the air in her lungs was forced out and created somewhat of a shout – although for a genuine one, the effort needed could no longer be supplied by her vocal cords.

The God of Deceit found a terribly sensitive spot within her and angled himself to abuse it. As the overload overpowered her – he was not left without effect of it, feeling the call-back had him drowning in a staggering amount of pleasure his own and otherwise. It was oh so difficult to not allow himself to succumb (and it wasn’t like his will had much of a say against the peak, but if he were to off with it completely – he was quite sure that his own completion would be instant). Sigyn’s core squeezed him exquisitely and only her insides had any energy to actually clench, for her physique remained completely compliant to his wishes. The waves of her high that washed him too were indescribable and he barely managed to live them through without joining.

When the clouds were a second away left behind in the past, he allowed himself to slow down and thrust shallowly – because he was not sure if he could go on with that unimaginable concentration requiring rhythm. The God of Mischief also ceased his onslaught of hits into that sweet-spot, trying to lessen the amount of feedback she gave him.

Awhile later her state was still not stable after the climax, but his was enough so, therefore he resumed his previous pace. The Godling was infinitively glad for the terrain that lied beneath them. The moss was so soft and plush, and it seemed almost as if they were making love on a waterbed. But despite the comparison it was good that it was not water just beneath the moss because it didn’t slosh and jumped back very softly. If this would have been normal, hard ground – then with this force that he used on his love, he would have harmed her greatly.

The girl’s core was so wet that it retracted a lot of the friction – and that was not a bad thing at all. His roughness would have definitely torn her up – if she wouldn’t have been put through such a trial of pleasure before. Pain would have been a certainty and if not – well then, he wouldn’t have even lasted as long as an ordinary Aesir could.

If he wouldn’t feel her (her sensations) then the sight before him would have been terrifying – like out of the worst of his nightmares, he wouldn’t have managed to continue even if she would have told him that she was alright. The boy-prince’s lover had tears streaming down her face and if he would not have known exactly why – the other summaries would have been horrendous. But everything that so perfectly depicted the image of great pain and agony – was actually anything but, it was pleasure that had forced her to cry. And he would never have thought that of all things – pleasure could make one cry, although she definitely wasn’t shedding the beautiful, crystal tears voluntarily.

Loki didn’t stop until he was forced to stop suddenly. Pleasure exploded in his every nerve, blooming in vicious ecstasy (but it wasn’t too bad that it was so much more sooner than he had ever lasted when making love – because there had been enough pleasure, too much of it actually). He spilled himself inside the Vanir. The burst of cold liquid in her burning core and the jerky, uncontrolled and rough movement had her insides seizing up and she followed in her high quickly after his had begun.

With his whole body shaking, he barely managed to hold himself in the position. The pleasure had been so unexpected and as if in payback (and that idea made him press out a vague hope that what he had done would not cause a vicious cycle of get-backs between them) her physical self still clenched about his uncomfortably sensitive, flaccid length.

The God of Lies still had the mind to actually lower her down because if he would have collapsed like this – his weight would have definitely hurt the female beneath. Their connection still thrived although it echoed a strange blackness from her end, which threatened to take him over as well. The movement made him slip out of the heat, but he wasn’t coherent enough to realize how much he missed it.

He should have rolled to his side but he did not manage to do so, as he could no longer hold himself up and lightly fell onto the Lady. He knew that he was heavy, but the following thought was too fogged to make out. And the last thing he knew – was that he didn’t know whether he had passed out like she had or fallen asleep so suddenly – and it didn’t really matter because the darkness felt deserved and blessed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter that I have re-uploaded. Because these speedy updates were not updates at all - but actually re-uploads, the updates will be coming slower.
> 
> I love feedback, it helps me update faster~


	27. Discovery

**Chapter twenty-seven**

**_Discovery_ **

 

        

Loki’s waking was heavy and outdrawn. For a moment he was disoriented until the events of yesterday (if it was truly that, for how much time had actually passed – he could not tell, but he felt that it was no more than five hours) flooded his mind. He became instantly aware of the tight ball of warmth – Sigyn, which he had carefully shielded with his body ‘til he had shifted for a groggy stretch – which was aborted by the awareness of the fatigue lying treacherously within his physique.

He ignored the hurt in his muscles because the slumbering person by his side shivered from the lack of his bodily shield. They were both very much naked and had slept (or passed out) in the open of the misty moorlands. It was doubtful that anything would have come to find them (with the realm so scarcely inhabited by Giants and the presence of animals was probably nearly completely nonexistent) so their staying so vulnerably in the open wasn’t exceedingly foolish. Alas that was not his primal concern (and most possibly the reason of his waking had not been that) because the weather was cool – probably even cold for his love and that just wasn’t acceptable. The magician could have summoned a blanket from their tent and resumed his rest, but that wasn’t the warmest of the options (and it would not have fought away the dampness that lingered in the air as well as was beneath them).

The exhausted Prince did not wake the Princess who was curled so tightly into herself. If she would rouse on her own – that was fine, but he didn’t find it necessary to disrupt her slumber for something that did not require her wakefulness (and she most possibly needed the rest terribly). Therefore he carefully took her into his arms (mindful of her body) and began the trek to the tent.

He mentally cursed his predicament, there was quite a walk for him to make and he had not considered that yesterday – he hadn’t found the distance important. His gait appeared to not have been affected by the previous events, but it was actually his will that made him march with a perfect step. Her weight did not bother him – it was too slight for that. And as he carried the girl she simply continued sleeping, but was curled into him unconsciously (and not probably for his warmth – or lack of it more accurately).

It took a while for the young man to reach the tent. He entered it carefully, monitoring the gorgeous sleeping deity nestled in his arms. He gently kicked their discarded clothing (that had appeared there due to his spell hours prior) as to not joust the woman much. He tucked her into the many blankets and furs tenderly and joined her quickly.

Despite the fact that he was probably not the best bed-warmer (in the literal sense, concerning the emission of heat) she still turned to him the very moment he laid down. He embraced her sleeping form, earning a contented purr. Feeling comfortable and warm due to the Lady that had curled into him, he quickly drifted off into the inviting dark void of sleep.          

* * *

 

The God awoke feeling rested but just as sore and lethargic. He hadn’t the slightest as to how long they had rested, however resuming the rest was not a necessity. Even if he would have managed to fall back to sleep, it would have been restless and with gaps of wakefulness in between.

He briefly pondered the idea of getting up and preparing something to eat, so that when Sigyn roused they could share a breakfast. Alas he knew that she would definitely not like waking alone (even if his intentions were purely good and he wouldn’t be far). The boy-prince expected her to be grouchy because of what he had done yesterday, so there was no need to anger her further.

His dilemma though was cut short as he heard a groan that signaled her waking. She turned to him and a great grimace marred her features. Whatever he had felt about what had transpired prior was instantly replaced with worry for her bodily state. It was entirely possible that he had been too rough with her. He snuffed the anxiety for the sake of uttering a silver-tongued greeting.

“Good morning”

Her reply was another groan as she snuggled more into the pillow. She cracked open a lone eye (the other was most possibly closed as it was pressed into the pillow) – that was her acknowledgement of him.

The Heir did not last long – the need to make sure that she was alright overtook him again.

“Sigyn” his whisper was laced with worry.

“What?” she asked sounding annoyed and her face remained scrunched up in an unattractive grimace. “’S too early”

He placed his hand on her shoulder and shook it lightly, trying to garner her attention and rid her of the clingy sleep.

“Sigyn” he repeated sounding the same.

She made a half-hearted attempt at shaking his hold off.

“Sigyn, I need to look at you”

“What?” the half-blood Vanir said louder and appeared to be even more upset by his insistence.

“I need to look at you” he was getting annoyed with her lack of cooperation.

“Aren’t you looking at me now?” she regarded him with narrowed and sleepy orbs. As she curled more into the bedding, crumpling her pillow in her hold she added “Go to sleep, Loki”

“I _need_ to look at you” the male pressed “See how you are faring”

“What are you going on about?” she asked while not really asking. “Just go back to sleep”

“Sigyn, I just need to make sure you are alright, then you can go back to sleep”

“Whas?” came her not-quite-woken-up interpretation of ‘what’. “I’m fine” the female answered to his insistencies without really realizing what he was talking about.

He was only further irritated by this, so he began anew.

“Sigyn”

“What’s your problem?” she asked still sounding disoriented and remained curled into the multitude of blankets. Alas no matter how comfortable her position looked, her frown was portraying something else – and that unnerved him, justifying his need to know whether it was or wasn’t a result of their endeavor upon the mosses yesterday.

“Just let me look at you” the Lie God told her and the annoyance was evident in his tone.

She shifted her head to look at him, her orbs remained narrowed (eyes now stormy sea blue, hair hazel – he noted). Then the girl-woman really understood what he was requesting (demanding – and trying not to leave room for objection). She instantly discarded most of the remnants of slumber and the sobering action combined with what he was saying – angered her.

“Oh no, no, no! **No.** No way in the Nine! I am fine and well, so piss off!”

The Godling’s emeralds narrowed, he was tired of the game ‘wake Sigyn and then deal with her angry, sleepy self’.

“Then you have no objections of me validating that”

“Didn’t you hear what I said?! I said I was fine and if I need to repeat myself to get it through your thick skull, then I. am. fine!” she hissed venomously and if not for the circumstances then he would have appreciated just how well she could imitate a threatening snake’s hiss.

The God of Lies saw that showing his agitation only riled her up more, so he opted to use his gentlest silverine tone to coax her. Affectionately caressing her shoulder he said.

“Just spread your legs, love, and I promise to lay off”

“I have done enough spreading for you already and am not planning on doing so now!”

He was indignant at her play on his intentions (he knew that she was not misinterpreting what his intent was – which was purely innocent).

“Charming.” the God of Deceit noted on her little outburst, tone and expression revealing his not impressed state. “I do not even think that I am capable of _that_ and I have no intention of finding out. Now if you would just--”

“Don’t you even dare!” she threatened “Because if you do, you will only find yourself _there_ in your dreams”

“Fair enough” he said in honest agreement, for if making sure that she was alright disallowed him to make love to her for an unspecified duration of time – then that was fine with him. That was completely acceptable for Loki (for be that as it may, he wasn’t obsessed with... fucking) and if anything, then from what he had summarized – the arising of each of their passions depended on both of them. If Sigyn wouldn’t want him in that sense then he wouldn’t want her either, and when she did – well, then they both would want the other.

“I’m serious!”

“I do not doubt that you are” and he wasn’t mocking her.

“If you’ll go through with what you intend to do, then the only way you’ll find _release--_ ” she sneered the last word with all the intent to sting “--Will be by your own hand!”

The boy-prince’s lip curled in distaste at the suggestion (what an accusation that was, making him sound so petty), he felt insulted. Quickly getting rid of that indignity (for her words had hit home, striking his grand pride) he placed both of his hands on her arms, concentrating into his objective.

“Just relax, Sigyn”

“No!” she said adamantly as she fought to remove his hold on her.

The man had to tighten his grip on her wrists. He was beyond annoyed now – what a difficult creature she was, stubborn, utterly stubborn! If she continued with this she was going to hurt herself! The girl kicked fruitlessly at the half-dozen of blankets that were tangled about her legs, moving her body from side to side trying to shake his tight hold.

“Lemme go!”

“Can’t do that, luv” he responded with his royal manner of speaking discarded, giving her a tired and humorless grin.

“What do you want me to say?! Fine, I’m sore! And it’s not like you can do anything about that, you can’t relieve strained muscles!”

“It is all for the best if it is just that. However I still need to make sure” the deceitful one said with in a falsely sweet tone.

The Goddess’s struggle had not ceased at any point and the possible threat that that held over her physique made him raise his tone.

“Stop wrestling with me!”

“No, geroff!” she responded equally agitated (maybe even more).

Restraining the young Lady with force was not an option and it was clear that she wasn’t giving up. The Master Sorcerer was beginning to think of what kind of spell to use to bind and keep her still. But when a fraction of a second’s worth of opening was given to him – the God of Mischief did not waste it. He yanked the blankets from her side and her swift yet frantic attempt to catch at least one was only partially successful. In a moment of panic (which was honestly strange for him because of its actual presence in her), the woman grabbed the corner of one of the blankets and kept it securely on her chest. She still managed to shout out a curse at him though.

“Arsehole!”

While he found her profanity quite entertaining, now it was only a nuisance. However her struggles were thwarted – so it wasn’t overly bothersome. If it made her feel better, she could call him all sorts of names – he didn’t mind.

“Many would agree with you on that” the young God whispered distractedly and he wasn’t sure if she’d heard that (he did not really know whether it was exactly meant for her anyway).

From his fast thinking and acting she was left exposed down from her navel. And just as swiftly as he mumbled his reply, his hands grasped her legs that were bent at knee-point and gently wrenched them apart. The action wasn’t much resisted, for her form had grown petrified at the vulnerability, her hand retaining a white-knuckled grip on the thick cover that she had pulled all the way to her collarbone. The male noticed how her abdominal muscled had clenched in tensing.

Feeling that she wouldn’t make any sudden movements in attempt to escape him, he did not restrain her in anyway. Extra carefully he pressed a finger to her folds, instantly noticing how the pink flesh in between was still quite swollen (that made him frown; how much time had passed anyway? Her body had to be relaxed by now). His slow and mindful prodding made the female Vanir let out an angrily mournful sound because of the immense humiliation she felt.

He kept glancing back at her face every few seconds, she was looking into the ceiling of the tent and didn’t turn her gaze anywhere else. The Throne Heir very gently spread the inner folds, to gain better access to her core. He had known prior that just looking wasn’t going to cover it (he consciously hadn’t told her that) and by what he could tell by simply observing – she appeared to be unharmed.

Biting his lip to fight off a wince he posed two of his fingers by the entrance to the Princess’s abused insides. The God of Trickery simultaneously leaned down and half-covered her body (without actually touching her) with his own – in an attempt to anchor her. He placed a kiss onto her temple while he pushed his digits into her – both of the actions were swift and precise.

Her core seized up immediately and a pained sound left her throat. The magician’s energy washed her in constant waves – but quelled her little. The girl-woman had her eyes closed and was breathing in heavy, regulated yet strained breaths. The tenseness of her physique did not dissipate. It did not bother the Trickster much because his fingers were static – therefore her lack of relaxing did not harm her now, although it would when he would have to remove his long appendages.

After a thorough examination by the God of Magic, he found that there were no rips or tears. There was the strain on her insides – but as Sigyn had said, he could not really heal that. Feeling relieved (and not the least bit guilty because of this forced intrusion of her bodily privacy) he pulled his digits out of her.

The motion wasn’t hard but it was quick. He pulled away from her form without hurry, planning on saying something and was startled (probably even she was) by how fast she sprung up into a sitting position. The blanket fell into her lap, covering her (with the exception of her left leg). One of her dainty hands remained gripping the cover to her chest.

The force of the slap snapped Loki’s head to the side. It was completely unexpected, leaving his green orbs wide, his surprised eyes instantly sought out his _clearly_ upset lover. For less than a fraction of a second she seemed... frightened, as if he would... strike her back? But that look was swiftly denied to have been present at all and pushed into oblivion, because the time it had been there was too short to acknowledge and the significance of the expression was too great to _not_ ignore (he simply did not want to believe what he had seen in that flash of a second). With the illusion-non-illusion moment’s passing all that her physiognomy told was rage.

A subconscious thought involving the pulsing sting was... worrisome. Something deep down in him was sure that if yesterday’s activities had not occurred, then he would be very much aroused right now. Another treacherous voice added that it was just like him – to get off of her anger. These faster than light ponderings met a punishment in the form of a good mental shaking.

He used his best normal (slightly mischievous tone) to inform her.

“Well, you are alright”

The Goddess hissed and then replied.

“This was completely unnecessary, if you’d have just believed what I said, bastard!”

With a highly irritated huff she hit back the pillows and pointedly turned away from his direction.

“I’m not speaking with you”

The Trickster God was amused and took her threat lightly.

“You are speaking with me now”

“Shut up” she said.

He lied down and wanted to hold her closer but thought that he had pushed her enough, and whatever he’d do would not be appreciated. So he simply opted to staring and marveling at her bare back.

* * *

 

The breakfast had been shared in silence (and boy, was it strained!). The second-born Prince of Asgard hadn’t believed that her ignoring him would affect him so much. He couldn’t have helped being all fidgety (throughout the ‘morning’). Having his beloved so upset had been torturous (and she was so angry, over his good intentions no less!).

The guilty one had followed the Vanir dutifully as she strode away into some unknown direction (but he had guessed her intentions correctly). Her champagne colored dress (so tame compared to her usual choices) had swished wildly due to her lethargy-ridden, angry steps.

They had taken a luxurious soak in one of the hot springs, after which she had begun speaking with him, but he could sense that she was just a tad (actually still quite a lot) upset. The heat of the water had chased away the sluggishness both of the younglings had experienced, soothing every ache of their tired muscles.

* * *

 

Later that day another exploration of Niflheim’s moorlands was set to occur. And despite truly uncaring of whether it would happen or not, the God of Mischief did not dare to oppose the girl’s wishes (not that there was any room for arguments or suggestions).

The study of the water-bodies should have been very much anticipated, however it didn’t entirely chase away the stress that the female’s silent treatment had accumulated within his mental being. She answered each of his questions, promptings and subjects of conversing when he offered, alas some form of discontent remained on her side.

It wasn’t disappointment that she felt towards the God of Deceit, no, that he was familiar with. It was what was directed at him whenever he fell short of some expectation or whatever (Thor’s) norm he had failed to reach. That stung sometimes, even if it was always expected. But this, this wasn’t disappointment. That and this were completely of a different category, as well as inspired different reactions from him. The Princess was angry, and anger was not disappointment. The latter required false expectancy, which he somehow felt that with her knowledge of his nature, was not involved in the equation. He was mischief-embodied and so she had known of his capacities in doing something she wouldn’t approve. Having not expected the titled God of Chaos (titled so by her) to completely forsake that which made him – him (more so, when the young Goddess seemed to appreciate his antics most of the time), disappointment was not a possibility there.

The two had inspected a number of springs and that wasn’t even close to exploring their totality – because there was a plentitude of them as far as the mists allowed sight of. Aside from size, murkiness and temperature (all were warm though) – the waterholes were not all that different from one another. The sorcerer had gathered more than several vials of the waters – feeling some sort of achievement at least for that. Sigyn had not been idle either. Her studies consisted of hand-hoverings over the various liquid filled holes, actual hand tests (once she had deemed them safe enough to touch – they had yet to find a hazardous one) and other more ethereal explorations (or so he summarized).

They were crouching beside one particular hot spring, which was more a swamp (although lacking a vast algae population) than a tiny lake, and the girl-woman was completely immersed in studying it. Perhaps that immense concentration was the thing that had dampened her otherwise topnotch sensations, but Loki was less focused in the spring. It was the reason why he had noticed the approach of someone or with the more accurate ponderings – something. The presence of an animal was highly unlikely – therefore the subtle break in atmosphere had to be a _different_ kind of inhabitant. The first thing he noticed was a crackle in the energy field he sensed (barely perceptible, more difficultly traceable with his abilities on such slight traces of energy), then – soon, very soon there was a snap of a twig and then heavy and long-pause in beat containing footsteps.

Forgoing warnings the man grabbed his crouching partner. Having no time to consider a more refined technique, he simply grabbed her tightly by the hair and yanked her to his body. It was much to their fortune (Luck Goddess in his hand and all) that a small gathering of pines was just beside the swamp-lake. Just a few meters to their left and so he was quickly behind one of the spike-for-leaves tree.

His hand was accidentally yanked out of her hair with an unforgivable force (a loud yelp or something like that was missing, but since it wasn’t there he didn’t think on it). There was resistance to his shifting of limb (not trashing in an attempt to be released for she appeared to have gathered _who_ , _what_ and _why_ ), two sounds (one muffled, other – barely detectable), a strange tickle to the fingers of one of his hands and a shake of her head as if to remove something. These tiny details were unimportant, he had her tightly held to him, and his main concern was for the ‘what’ that was approaching.

The pine the two younglings hid against wasn’t thick, so it managing to cover them – depended more on good fortune, than actual strategic advantage. From the corner of the tree, the male noticed a Giant slowly emerging from the scarce foliage (the fogs had helped to shroud his presence). The tall, hulking, gray-tinted body did not turn about to inspect anything (and if it had not seen the two Gods, then it truly had little need for searching of anything alive around here). The Jotunn was uninterested and simply made its not rushed way to somewhere else. It was soon going to cross the point where both of them were hiding, the primal question was – whether it would notice them; and if so – what then...

The God of spell-craft did not think that this creature was beyond his power to slay. The presence of its kinsmen being nearby was highly unlikely (with the fact that Giants tended to live solitary lives, and he wasn’t sensing any additional disturbances anywhere close). Defeating the being wasn’t a question of difficulty, rather it was that of necessity. While the Master of Magic had really little tolerance for anyone of this race, he still wasn’t too keen on murdering them whenever they entered his sight. It was common for some races of Jotunns to ignore passerbys, so a battle in that case would be a waste of energy. If it was not hostile, it wasn’t necessary to kill the creature and have the young woman witness that.

He could feel her inhales and exhales due to their closeness, the breaths were deep but steady. The magician watched the Giant walk by... It hadn’t turned to acknowledge them (if it was even aware of their being there in the first place). Both Godlings just gazed as the grey form retreated, as it was engulfed in the ever-shifting hazes.

Several minutes later, the Heir realized that his hand was firmly clamped over his lover’s mouth. He lowered it carefully and when he did give her back the ability to voice herself – she not too quietly but tentatively said.

“ _He’s_ gone now”

The Dark Prince had to agree, he couldn’t feel _it_ (or any others) at the moment. He released her completely from his hold and nodded mutedly, she was turned away so she couldn’t see the movement, but she understood him anyway.

The girl stepped away from him, winced and scratched her hair. She was already walking away when he pieced together the small details that had been overshadowed by his other concerns. He had pulled her to her feet and dragged her to this meek hiding place by her hair, she hadn’t made a sound because she hadn’t been able to – his hand had silenced her. But the fingers of the God of Lies had not gotten tangled in those hazel strands and yet he had had trouble removing his (unforgivably) forceful hand.

Frowning he glanced at his hand that was guilty of harsh tugging (but the Vanir didn’t appear to be upset with this, it hadn’t been done on purpose anyway). His green eyes widened – so this was what had caused that little tickling sensation. There where his ring had cracked due to the shattering vial filled with the main-source water of Hvergelmir, her hair had been caught and plucked out of its roots. Good two centimeters of width, a long (and peculiarly not tangled or frizzled) lock of hair was coiled. That was quite the ‘trophy’ he had pulled, a multitude of strands, so straight and neat, and if not for the torn ends – he would have assumed them to have been cut clean.

However it wasn’t the fact on how it had gotten there (he was aware of that information) that was most astonishing. It was the color of the plucked strands of hair; not light brown (like she sported now) nor of any of the hues he had ever seen them be. The closest description to what he was seeing would be the colors of the Bifrost and it was a very accurate comparison. All the colors known, everything from the main ones to the in-between-ers and the in-between-ers of the in-between-ers – were present. It was not a static mash-up of them either. No, the colors were moving in the nearly exact same way they were in the Rainbow Bridge.

Then the Lie God truly understood why the Vanir (well at least some of them) had the ability to change the coloration of their hair. It was not a shapeshifting ability because shapeshifting was undetectable, it may have been hereditary, but not part of the reality that always made the shapeshifter who he/she was. Hamingja was based on changing who you are physically, shapeshifters were not born with and don’t naturally (without conscious or unconscious consent) carry marks of their ability. This trait of Sigyn’s people was not magic based either – for that was much like the aforementioned ability. This color changing thing was connected with genes, and differently so from magic or shapeshifting.

Now that he was finished with admiring the shimmering strands, the wisest course of action was to burn them. For even the less magically-aware people knew what power hair possessed. Acquire that of a living – and you’ll have the power to curse them, acquire that of the dead – and you will have a different power (power over necromancy and even that over the living, if the one that was the owner had been powerful enough). And his love’s locks were _very_ powerful (and rare, since her Vanir powers were awakening), they could be used to harm or influence her, to create potent potions or poisons, or to cause damage to others. Simply told – lost hair was dangerous to the owner and had many other additional uses.

The strands caught in his ring sizzled in both color and tiny shocks of energy, as well as they radiated pure energy. They had a pleasant smell: that of the female, of _power_ and something both earthy and metallic. Knowing full well of the dangers this piece of hair could pose, should it fall into wrong or unknowledgeable hands (even in the last case, ingredients did tend to travel), he still decided to keep it. The boy-prince removed a handkerchief from his pocket and carefully placed the ripped locks into it, then folding the piece of material he placed it into his pocket. He would keep them safe, just as the garter he had failed to return to the Lady (although it couldn’t serve any high purpose, even if it were to fall to someone skilled in the arcane magical arts). Leaving his position by the pine he quickly went to follow the girl-woman that had walked away.

* * *

 

Sometime after the episode both had agreed upon splitting. This suggestion was conceded on with an irrationally heavy heart on the God’s side. Logic dictated that another encounter with a Giant was very unlikely and the Goddess had ventured into Niflheim (amongst other realms) on her own before, so she knew how to avoid any dangerous meetings. She had strapped her silver dagger that morning – and only with that she had made trips to uncharted territories. Even when she didn’t have it with her, he was aware that she carried other similar substitutes.

He had wanted to witness more of these lands from bird-flight, still he hadn’t wished to leave her alone. The Godling decided not to travel far, so that if anything were to go wrong – he would be swift to aid her. Besides, a small separation would do them good. The young woman needed to be given some space to get over his actions that had occurred upon their waking, there was still an ember of anger in her. So the shapeshifter flew off into the high mists.

* * *

 

The girl stood by a large hot spring that had caught her attention. While Loki had his doubts whether these water-bodies originated from Hvergelmir, she did not. Her _feelings_ were strong on that and she chose to believe them, a small droplet of the water tasted while he hadn’t been looking only straightened that ethereal knowledge. And really it wasn’t that unbelievable that not just these – but all waters were united. If she herself could travel by the connections between worlds – it was only because they were not truly separate, and so why should the water be any different? Despite that there were stretches of space between the branches of Yggdrasill – they were still part of the same unit, they were connected. It wasn’t that the happenings in one worked as in Multiverse within the others. Sure, an occurrence could influence something – but they were not repetitions of the same, not copies of one another.

The land around this certain waterhole was different, the mosses were jumpier – as if great amounts of water were beneath it. She opted to explore that theory and see for herself whether this spring extended underneath the ground as well. Naturally such a feat even for Gods was a bit too much, as long as they could hold their breath – it was still not exactly a safe amount of time for such an exploration.

However she could pull it off with the tricks she’d learned from the Ocean folk that resided in this realm. There were three spells that she had picked up on her stay (and while the people of water referred to them as techniques, in her understanding they were magic-based) that would aid her. First was a way to breathe underwater for a long amount of time – more than that of a few hours. The second was an underwater clairvoyance spell – so that she would find her way back in order to remerge, very convenient for the guests of Niflheim’s waters – used to find the opening in ice they had entered from. The third, well the female wasn’t sure whether it would even be necessary, it was a way to light one’s way in the darkness of depths. Although it wasn’t very commonly used as the underwater of the Primordial World of Cold was bright enough to see in, without any additional light. The last enchantment on her list was mainly used by the water dwellers when exploring underwater lakes. Those were called the black lakes, they were actual water-bodies beneath water. Due to the difference in salted liquid of the seas and freshwater of those lakes – the two didn’t mix. Sigyn had never ventured that deep, however she wanted to one day and that technique would definitely come in handy.

Still in her dress she carefully dove into the spring. True to her previous estimations it was dim, but not overbearingly so, beneath the water’s surface. She cast two of the necessary spells and went deeper. The hot spring extended well beyond what she had seen, so she moved in the direction beneath the ground. The Vanir was a good swimmer, tutored by Naiads on maneuvers that would help her to avoid and get away from anything quickly when submerged.

The water-body she was swimming in was scarce in both plant-life and in aquatic-life. There weren’t many water plants and none of them looked particularly ominous. Mostly consisting of algae, which she spent some time investigating. The fish however were very flighty and did not tend to swim in large groups. She did not wish to bother them, so she simply watched them from a considerate distance.

Down on the bottom a strange rock formation was lying. It was larger and somehow different, less slimy due to the lack of algae clinging to it, and slightly differed in its coloration from the others. There was also the fact that it was humongous.

Intrigued the woman swam closer to it. She touched the outcroppings of stones, interested in what force had formed it this way. The natural structure was the beholder of her interest for more than an hour.

She found a very large crack in the rock and carefully traced it. Curious about the cause of its appearance. The seam was so clean, the Princess had a difficult time believing that it had been created by nature.

Swiftly the crack in the stone opened, shifting into much larger magnitude. Greatly startled by this she moved away in a frenzy of disharmonized hand and leg motions, bubbles of air escaping her lungs. The second the gargantuan rock had begun moving – it had ended, and a yellow iris with a slit for a pupil focused onto her...

* * *

 

Even in the hamingja of a raven the young man still managed to frown. He had located his beloved without trouble, but there was something about her steady stance, which he saw from the distance, that unnerved him. He didn’t feel any sort of grand feelings of foreboding, however something was definitely amiss.

When he got closer to make out better detail – he realized that she was shivering and appeared to have taken a dip in the water with her clothes on, and the temperature wasn’t cold enough to make her tremble like that. The shapeshifter changed from bird to man faster than he normally could have done. The visage of his lover shaking, with her dress soaking wet and clinging to her body (and Norns, was it really necessary for him to notice that her gown wasn’t transparent due to its sate; well at least it wasn’t – that would have been a distraction) and her dark hair sticking to her forehead and back – all of this was enough to press the time limit between his shiftings.

Sigyn took notice of him quickly and as he was approaching, but before he managed to ask anything she explained her soaked state herself (and the explanation wasn’t all that informative).

“Loki, I met Nidhoggr”

His eyes widened at the statement. They had a lot to talk about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have forgotten what/who Nidhoggr is, then you can find the explanation in the bottom author’s notes in chapter twenty-one (Planning).
> 
> Oh, and yes I know that the correct plural form of ‘passerby’ is ‘passersby’, I just prefer the common misspelling of the word.


	28. Reemergence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read this – so that unnecessary questions would not arise when you’ll have finished the chapter. Yes, this is the twenty-eight chapter. Yes, I know how the twenty-seventh had ended. Yes, I know what I’m doing (maybe).

**Chapter twenty-eight**

**_Reemergence_ **

 

 

Half a decade had passed. The time that had gone by for Loki had been full of what he considered to be royal triviality, small political and warring conflicts – which were nothing if not time consuming. Sigyn had spent most of it in Vanaheim, strengthening the connection with her heim-land by the day. Her trips elsewhere were few and far in-between, and the second-born Prince of Realm Eternal had been too busy to be troubled by her unknown locations.

Despite his best attempts to think otherwise, the times they had been together seemed to him far too much like stolen moments. Not like those happening in a closet while a feast was going on, mind you (both of them were too royal-bred for such), but still too much like stolen moments. However that was soon to change...

A grand holiday season was soon to begin in Asgard. The longest one – important to both peasants and royals. The grandeur of this yearly season of celebration was rivaled by none (with the exception of those that occurred every century or millennia, for example – royal birthday anniversaries, weddings, coronations and the like). With the Harvest festival having ended more than a month ago, the extensive winter festivities were soon to begin. November was well on its way and the first of the six phases of Jul – was just a few days away. And the God of Mischief was not going to attend the opening of Julebord alone.

His Princess had not set foot in Realm Eternal since the fated day of the ‘trick marriage’. Aside from the scrutiny that the Throne Heir’s family would have given and Njord’s anger – there had never been a true reason why she could not have stayed. But to avoid all those gossip worthy (and potentially harmful) collisions between the newlyweds and their parental figures – the young Goddess had stayed away. However that had quelled (or at least somewhat cooled on the Sea God’s side) a few years ago and it was as safe as ever for them to appear together in Asgard, still thus had not occurred.

There was truly nothing wrong with the population of the Asgardians knowing that the royal couple was actually together. Still the Trickster was careful: of not showing the vulnerability that would surely be obvious if the extent of his caring for his ‘wife’ would be disclosed (and he had plenty of people that would be swift to abuse this kind of knowledge); of not revealing any leads that could reveal his part in the true demise of the warriors prior the wedding... But being clever was one thing, having the Lady disappear from the Golden World altogether – was another. There was no need for everyone to be left with the impression that there was a strong connection between the Godlings, but it would do them good to remember who the daughter of the Love Goddess belonged to. The possessive thought stroked the young man in all of the right ways; he would be more than happy to remind them...

And so the Vanir female’s reemergence would occur. Covered with the finest threads and most precious of gemstones, as an independent woman (although Asgard would never think so, seeing as he was her ‘husband’ and by that she owed him her utter obedience and loyalty – a rather sickening ideology in both of the younglings’ minds) with the highborn man exclusively at her side.

Jul was promising to be very different this year for the God of Deceit. He felt the exact same eagerness (and joy – was it?) as he had when he was a child awaiting the presents he’d receive on Julaften.  

The idea of returning to Realm Eternal for the duration of the celebration had not been met with any resistance (the girl missed her baby-sister terribly, so it was easy to convince her). With the young woman’s bags filled with her possessions in hands, both had made their discreet way to the highest branch of the World Tree. The stealthy arrival was not a random game for them – the God of Lies wished not to make this known to anyone until the time was right (not to mention that no one was supposed to know that they were able to travel between realms). If it were done any differently, then the possibility of her unintentionally drawing unwanted attention was high.

With the nature of the grand opening being what it was – the Heirs were not required to act as ‘hosts’ of it, the King and Queen were in charge of that (and really, their children heatedly opposed any royal duties as such – so the sons complied only when they had not choice). Therefore it would not be difficult for the Lie God to appear with his love hand in hand and avoid leaving her alone – that way making sure that in such a public environment any fiery confrontations would be avoided. And he was sure that there were plenty of individuals in court (especially females) who would wish to sink their claws into her and gain the most novel of gossip. But the worst of it all would be a more private meeting between the girl-woman and her grandfather – the Godling knew that the man could be vicious. A surprise appearance would be more convenient, and at least the initial reaction would be just acidic whispers – with that both of them could deal just fine.

* * *

 

The lovers stealthily headed straight for the male’s quarters and were noticed by no one. The said chambers were one of the most secure places in the Golden Palace when it concerned being hidden from the residents and the staff. The servants were not allowed entrance beyond the antechamber, where they would usually bring food or gather dirty linen and clothing. As for the rest of maintenance his abode required, well that he took care of by himself. For the God of Magic it was no difficulty to cast a cleaning spell or enchant items and furniture to not gather dust.

He loathed it when people mingled about his rooms and belongings, it wasn’t because they contained important or very secret things – or they did not in easily _accessible_ places. Of course that was not quite correct, a plentitude of trinkets were chaotically (but not untidily) placed about the chambers, anything of more questionable possessing or outwardly forbidden – were carefully tucked away. His haven had many secret nooks and crannies, and there were additional libraries containing more... delicate knowledge, one was just beyond the largest bookcase that was in the antechamber and the other in his study. There also was a vast dungeon-like hideout to which entry was only possible through a mirror in his bedchamber and down a flight of massive winding stairs – it was a laboratory of sorts, meant for magical purposes of course. So everything was highly guarded and even more protected by sorcery – secrets upon secrets, his essence explained in just three words. And the Master of Magic could have kept anyone hidden away there for as long as he wished and no one would be the wiser concerning it.

When they arrived there were less than four hours left until the ceremonial opening feast would begin, so they had no time for resting and just enough for their preparations. While his beloved was bathing in the bath chambers he left her a little something for the celebration on his bed. He did not doubt that she had more than one set of clothing, but he still went through the effort of having something new made for her.

The reason of his retreat to the antechamber was not in order to give her privacy (which she most possibly would want) because there were plenty of screens and curtains, and corners in his bedroom that offered enough ‘protection’. The thought behind the action was caused by a strange anxiety. The sorcerer did not know what mood she was in and whether his presence there, and the new garment would make it more negative, with Sigyn – it could go either way. It was not his place (in their relationship at least) to tell her (order her) what she should dress in – and he did not want her to assume such; in reality it was just a gift – a suggestion, optional in the case of declining or accepting to use.

On the green elaborately embroidered covers of his bed he had placed a dress (forgoing shoes since he was sure that even if she currently had not brought anything of the matching shade – then she would without a doubt have something neutral enough to go with it; he had not dared to bring her a new set of undergarments either – she definitely had plenty and possible interpretations could go very, very wrong) and a small box containing jewelry. Both clothing and accessories he had commissioned (strictly customized by himself) from places without direct connections to the palace. Although that was quite an unnecessary effort on his part – with his skills he could have easily made such from closer without being noticed for what he truly was.

The colors of the gown had been a topic his mind had spent quite some time mulling over. The young royal man had desperately wanted to see her in black, which was often considered to be the color of mourning in Asgard – and so a bit too eccentric and audacious – at least for now. His own signature color and shades of it were instantly scratched out from his mental list, even if the Princess would agree to wearing something of that tint – in his prediction that would show a bit too much control of his over her when it concerned the general public (and with how they would appear – hand in hand, and with her position of the ‘Goddess of Fidelity and Bonds’ – that was already too much for his tastes).

Most of the women would be clad in tentative colors of autumn, to signify the ending season – late November, however for his love that was far too generic and pastels weren’t a thing either liked. From the same story – golden – was out of the question, since she felt great hatred for it. Shades of rose were loathsome in both of their opinions. Red – she disliked, he didn’t mind much, but it was kind of his brother’s color (although Thor really didn’t have a definite one that everyone would attest to him, unlike his younger sibling). Shades of blue – well, he was not feeling very blue in mood. White was more of a wedding color and he had a feeling she still felt hatred for it – garb wise, furthermore he was not keen with what Realm Eternal likened it with, and she was pale – there was no need to wash her out of the crowd and make her unnoticeable for the most part. And so, after a long inner debate, he came to the decision of purple – he’d seen her in it and she did not seem to be against it either.

The shape of the dress was mild – compared to how risqué she could go, but that was no issue – there were still other presents he had prepared for the girl. It was actually in two pieces, the upper half could be fastened with the bottom with secure ties and little hooks (and with magic – if necessary). The top consisted of an actual purple-dyed, glinting leather corset, which had a low cut and was crisscrossed by ties both in the front and the back. The skirt had a slight flair to it and trailed quite a bit, it had no slit nor did it hug her tightly. The fabric of it was luminescent and pearlescent, when caught by the light – ventured slightly to the realm of dark blues. Everything about the evening gown was beautiful, the boy-prince did not have to guess whether she’d look stunning in it. The only question was whether she would wear it tonight.

The God of Trickery was uselessly preoccupied with getting lost in his thoughts. Awhile later a high and whispery singsong voice startled him as it called his name from the bedchamber, the texture of it belonging to an eerie lullaby. It was not her usual tone (although it was just as lovely, alas he was possibly slightly biased because there was probably little about her that would not befall the category of pure perfection), however there was no mocking to be heard in it so he was assured that she was not upset.

When he opened the door he was gifted with the sight of the Vanir’s bare back, as she was holding the corset top to her chest.

“Tie it up for me” she requested.

And he knew that she could do that on her own, but who was he to not oblige his Lady? Therefore he approached her and began the delicate work.

“Loki, what are you doing?”

“Lacing the corset” he said with a matter-of-fact air present in his voice, he was too focused on the task to really wonder why she was even asking that.

“And I thought that you were playing with a porcelain doll. And I am not made of porcelain nor am I a doll, as beautiful as one surely – but still not a doll” she responded sternly.

He grunted his reply and tightened the strings.

“Loki” she repeated in warning. “I am sure that you would not wish it to slip off of me during the feast, giving an eyeful to all of those present” that was delivered with a sneer-y intonation.

He hissed from envy or maybe because of her antics.

“You just had to tell me to tighten it, love. There was no need for additional motivation” he said – all glares into her back.

“Encouragement” the God of Deceit could hear the self-satisfied note present in her answer.

He yanked the ties forcefully, nearly knocking her from her feet. Seeing as this tactic was not going to work, he relaxed his hold on the strings and told her.

“Hold on”

The girl-woman grabbed hold onto one of the posters of the bed and with a contented smirk she awaited his next tackling of the piece of clothing.

The envy-green garbed Prince tugged on the laces so forcefully that the action made her back arch and her breath catch. Without releasing his hold, he half-whispered, half-hissed into her ear.

“ _Is that good?_ ”

“Perfect”

“Are you sure?” his bravado was gone and worry wormed itself into his question.

“Of course. Finish it”

And so he did as he was told, the Godling tied up the strings into a neat bow. Afterwards he helped her (although it wasn’t really necessary) to get the bottom half of the gown on, carefully fastening it to the corset-top.

The Trickster God sat on one of the sofas all dressed and ready for the opening ceremony (all he needed to do was put on his coat and his preparation would be complete). He watched his lover from the mirror as she sat in front of it and readied herself for the celebration. He loved watching her and the delicate tasks that she did. She had brushed her hair (which was now of her usual hazel color but a bit darker, without the sunlit strands) and he watched all the while. She’d left it unbound – just how he liked it best (but not for his explicit request because he hadn’t uttered a word about that). He observed her throughout the ‘ritual’, following with his green eyes the way the brush travelled along her skin as she slightly powdered her already pale face.

The female applied a thick, curved line of wet eyeliner on her eyelids.

“You are distracting me” she said, but despite what she claimed his effect to be, he could hear the vanity beneath the statement. She liked being watched by him.

The reply of the God of Mischief was non-vocal. He simply grinned at her his signature grin as she studied his expression in the reflection.

After the curt exchange the Lady continued. She painted her eyelids in a midnight blue and even dotted little specks of glitter on them – and he thought that the image was reminiscent of a night sky. With the same shimmering, white paint she drew a little five-pointed star beside the outer corner of her right eye, just below the tail of the black line. The final touch was a glimmering, pale lavender lipstick, which he wanted to smudge away in a kiss.

With the long beauty ritual complete he brought her the small box that had been left on the bed. When he returned she had already finished putting on a pair of strapped, black high-heels. As she witnessed his approach and the prettily wrapped package that he had in his hands, she extended her arms, clenching and unclenching eager hands – in a childish notion.

“Oh, gimme, gimme, gimme!” the woman sang in a velvety voice, her blue eyes sparkling and face lit by a brilliant smile.

He smirked and removed a large silver collier with sapphires and amethysts from the box. He carefully fastened the piece of jewelry onto her neck as she held her long locks back to give him access to her delicious looking neck. Then he handed her the earrings, not very long in length (compared to what she sometimes wore), they were similar to the neckpiece, but they had little crescent moons of sapphires and tiny bubble-shaped amethysts that extended in a line down from her ear.

They looked into the mirror and marveled at the beauty of both that it reflected. The God of Lies kissed the Goddess’s jaw and she tilted her head to the side in enjoyment of the pleasurable attention that she was receiving. His hands caressed her bare shoulder.

“We should be leaving soon...” he said breathlessly and slightly reluctantly.

She nodded slightly in agreement. They were already late for the start of the ceremony, but that was how they had planned it, for neither wished to interact with the people gathered before they had to sit down in the hall. The idea was to arrive but a few minutes short of the official beginning – when the Allfather would make his announcement over the seated guests.

* * *

 

They walked through an empty corridor but the ruckus from beyond the heavy doors of the feasting hall was well audible. There were no guards guarding the entrance – there rarely were (unless the occasion called for it), the reason behind it was to allow the guests a more discrete exit (there were a few other ways out of the great chamber as well). There would be no announcer present by the door, to announce who had arrived – that way both would attract less attention to themselves. The Dark Prince had not been sent for before the celebration because he knew when he could be absent and when he could not shirk the duty. His family knew that he would be present and he was never forgetful of such, so there was no reason to fetch him.

The magician opened the golden doors with a flick of his wrist, giving sight to him and his partner the brightly-lit and heavily decorated hall. Their arrival garnered quite a few sober eyes to turn to them (and the orbs were such because the celebration was yet to begin, unless some individuals had left home slightly inebriated). And due to the nature of this gathering no one was extremely loud and there would be no dancing, as well as none had a glass in their hands. It was safe to say that nothing overly fiery would fly their way, of course there were whispers, silent but probably vicious in their nature.

The area was crowded but not as much as it would be if the more than a few thousand guests would be wandering the room freely. Everyone was holding close to their positions (designated or not) at the many extremely long tables that were metaphorically breaking from food. It was why the youngling was no too pleasantly surprised when he saw his mother (when she should have been somewhere far in the chamber, lingering by her seat). She had been conversing with some noblewoman whom he recognized to be one of the wives of the Odinfather’s resigned generals. The Queen noticed him the very moment they entered and he did not wish to talk to her now (and hear chastisement or worse – for not informing that he would bring his ‘wife’ with him).

But he was saved by the bell – the bell being a loud booming voice calling his name. The second-born son could see that Frigga wanted to tell him something, but he just offered a slight nod in greeting and quickly went towards the direction of his brother. Loki was walking hastily, not wanting to be confronted by her, and Sigyn kept up with him easily, she maintained a certain regal air about herself that made him all the more satisfied.

The firstborn Heir was making his way through the strings of guests as the two lovers approached him. There was another repeating of “Loki” until the one who called him noticed that his sibling was not alone. They still were a tad too far to converse without shouting, but the sorcerer noticed from the distance that it took a few seconds for recognition to light up the Thunder God’s face. He watched as it all flashed through Thor’s eyes, how he remembered that yes, his baby-brother (and the said man had always a trick or at least something to sneer if his older brother dared call him that aloud) was married and that that was indeed his wife.

Before the Storm God had the chance to greet her, the Vanir Goddess extended her hand to him. And the action was confident beyond belief, graceful but as fast as that of an attacking viper’s. It was a very sharp-edged (but poised) gesture, which emanated vanity more than anything – and the Lie God loved that. The movement of her arm pushed up her delicious breast more against the corset and the God of Lies noticed that the God of Thunder briefly looked her over. The glance was not lustful in nature, only appreciating (but he did not like it anyway).

The blond male was very respectful and it was something on both of the brothers’ ends that was the teachings of their mother. Frigga was keen on making proper gentlemen out of them both, although it’s not to say that their father was not of same thought. Odin was always caring that his children would not shame his name, however he never bothered with teaching them etiquette or something like that, he had other knowledge to share. His wife was to teach them how to be proper men, he taught them how to be Kings, how to rule and how to be good leaders in war.

“Lady Sigyn” Thor said as he kissed the top of her offered hand, each of her fingers were adorned with intricate silver rings (like a true Vanir’s), her serpent ‘wedding’ band included. The younger Heir was slightly surprised that his sibling had actually bothered with remembering his love’s name.

“Prince Thor” she said in reply.

The Golden Prince laughed in response and the Trickster could see that his woman’s sassiness was instantly liked by him.

“Call me Thor, sister” he offered with a broad smile.

“Will do” she promised as if for keeps with a confident smirk playing on her lips. Saying something like that to one of his stature was truly very, very bold. However both of the royal men liked her daring attitude.

“I can see that you will rival Loki, a good match indeed, haha!”

And he thought that the older childe of the Allfather had no idea how right he was.

“Well then, let me give my thanks for your approval from us both, brother” the man with the silver tongue interjected. His words were not venom-laced with mockery, he very much appreciated what Thor had told – not the approval, but the truth in what he had said.

“Not at all--” with laugh in his tone he replied, but whatever he wanted to say next was interrupted by a sound that told the gathered ones that it was time to take their seats.

Everyone present made their ways to the golden chairs that (just like the nature of the Asgardian fortress) were not in shortage, appearing to accommodate any guest – even if they were not initially included in the listing. The trio of Gods sat at one of the corner tables (a quite usual position for the royal siblings) and did not seat themselves near the King and Queen. The rebellious children of the Aesir Rulers were not required to take the positions of highest honor – beside their parents, so every time they had a change to be further away – they used it. The reason behind the brothers’ choice was that they did not wish to be part of the often politics dominated conversations, which took place closest to the ‘Throne’. Another reason for their seating was being near to an exit, so that they could leave whenever the celebration became too tenacious or too boring to bear, or if they had something more interesting to do (like for example – a little prank from the prankster God himself).

The God of Mischief sat down beside the Goddess of ‘Fidelity’. The God of Thunder took his place opposite them, Lady Sif already present at his right, Volstagg, Hogun and Fandral sat from his left. The Godling dressed in green could feel the interest spike in each of the warriors at the sight of someone by his side. He could see the wish to find out more and introduce themselves, perhaps even see for themselves what his ‘wife’ was like. However that all had to wait until after the ceremonial monologue of the Allfather would be finished.

All eyes turned to Odin (or at least his direction if they could not see through the sheer numbers of people gathered) as he began his speech. The content was all too similar to any other of his Julebord opening speeches, so despite the youngest son’s great respect for his father – he still tuned it out. Alas he still kept an attentive ear in case something important would be mentioned (although that was highly unlikely). A minimum focus given to the God of Wisdom, the young man wandered in his thoughts for the highest capacity that his mentality could afford.

The guests mostly consisted of warriors (although the nobility was also present, they would never miss any opportunity to attend a public event held by the King). The main purpose of this period was appreciation of one’s workers and such. Throughout the weeks of Julebord Asgard’s heart would house similar feasts for the other soldiers, servants, their families and such. The male knew that now in many a place in Realm Eternal every lesser nobleman and wealthier person that had employees – were celebrating in a similar (but less grand) fashion or at least the workers were (or would be) rewarded in some other way. While the idea may have been forged from good intent, he was aware that rarely anyone treated it with appreciation in mind. For many Asgardians it was a tradition, taken as some sort of law and means to upheld one’s name – all good will absent.

The younger Prince turned to the Allfather’s direction, however it was only a cover for his true object of observation. Of course the Crimson Hawks were also present – there could be no other way. And he sat as if in expectance that at any moment they would glare at him or jump over the tables and come after him and his beloved. It was pure paranoia no doubt about that, still he felt uneasy as if there would be some possibility (there was none) that they knew of his and hers involvement in Theoric’s and the other, nameless soldiers’ demise. He had left nothing to incriminate himself or his girl in any way, but still he felt very protective of her being this close to the Hawks.

With an outspread gesture of the wise God’s hand his speech ended and the attendees were allowed to assume feasting on the delicious dishes, which rested on the tables steaming. The talks began in a silent, respective volume, but the young God knew that as the mead and ale would be drunk in larger and larger quantities this moderately tame fashion of conversing would not last.  

Because of their late arrival the Golden Heir had not had the chance to properly introduce the female, so he instantly began once the ceremonial speech had ended.

“Lady Sigyn, I have to introduce you to our friends. This is Lady Sif and the Warriors Three – Volstagg, Hogun and Fandral” he gestured at each and all the Aesir and the Vanir woman exchanged nods in acknowledgement. “My friends, this is my little sister – Lady Sigyn” a little smile graced her face when her lover’s brother named her his ‘little sister’.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you”

“Oh, the pleasure is all ours, Lady Sigyn” a flirtatious response was uttered by the saber-wielding male.

However the blond man’s words were interrupted by the gutsy redhead. His plate was already filled with a mountain of food and no one had noticed when that had happened, in one hand he had a leg of a pheasant and in the other – a horn filled with brown ale.

“It is a pleasant surprise that you have joined us, Lady Sigyn” He took a bite and continued speaking, although the multitasking was perfected to such a level by him that it did not seem messy or ill-mannered “Such a surprise that Loki has brought his wife along with him this time! And it is about time!” he joked in good spirits.

From the corner of his eye the envy-green God noticed the twitch of her mouth when the word ‘wife’ escaped the warrior’s throat, well he was with her on that sentiment.

“Yes, I have been busy with family matters” she did not try very hard to hide her slight discontent, and so while the others did not notice it (maybe the warrioress did, but then again the God of Lies could see her reasonless dislike of Sigyn – therefore that could have been to blame) but he did. His lips quirked into a tiny smirk when she referred to Vanaheim as ‘family matters’ and well that was not a lie, not quite.

“Ah, so you are planning on staying now, yes?” Fandral asked, too concentrated into the purple-dressed (so very different than all the other females and not just garb-wise) girl-woman to begin filling his own plate. Everyone else was already doing that, even she had managed to fill her goblet with barley wine.

Taking a gulp of the beverage she responded.

“We shall see” the answer was vague and for those who knew (the lovers did) – it was out of the realm of truth, despite the haziness of it.

Thor and Volstagg were too preoccupied with food to react to that (although the second-born Heir was sure that they had heard it), Hogun was too uncaring and simply sat stone-faced. However the warrior’s, who had asked the question, eyes widened obviously – his comical surprise was born from the fact that it was very peculiar for a wife to say such a thing – to imply that she may leave at any time, without consulting her husband, without even glancing in his direction before uttering such. Although the flirtatious male’s physiognomy returned to normal quickly because he had summarized that the married couple had talked about such in private (no matter how strange it was for a woman to leave without her man, then again he may come with her or perhaps it was just because the royal one often left to who-knows-where himself; still it was tremendously odd).

Taking care of his own goblet, Fandral offered a proper, vocal response.

“Such a shame if you, my Lady, are going to leave so soon”

She said nothing to that and the God of Deceit nearly snorted. The word ‘flirt’ pinned itself to his mental picture of the man (not that the tag had not been there, for it had, but the word just flashed brightly when he heard that tone of ‘mourning’).

He had kept a keen eye over his older sibling’s friends throughout the exchange (not that they took note of that, seeing as he was putting food onto his plate and acting as though he cared not for the ongoing conversation). He saw the Asgardian female’s face scrunch-up in undisguised disgust when his love had declared that it is possible that she will leave at any time she pleases (although she had not phrased it like that). Sif was revolted by the audacity of the Goddess – that a wife could be so improper (and sometimes Loki wondered whether she always remembered that she was in fact a woman herself because what she did was hardly considered a female’s line of work in Asgard). He knew that the warrior Goddess thought very little of him (even his title meant nearly nothing to her – merely forced respect on more public occasions) and he was sure that she was not going to think much of the half-blood girl either.  

* * *

 

The movement of guests had been slight, people leaving and returning in small strings. The celebration had progressed smoothly and quite enjoyably, although it was somewhat straining for both of the Godlings.

Thor and the others had spent it involved in jolly conversations, mostly retelling and reminiscing about tales of battles (although some of them had been heard by most for the hundredth time). Sometimes the other soldiers that had sat closest to them would join the talks, but mostly when they weren’t involved in conversations of their own – they had simply listened with huge interest what the great warriors shared. The young royal man had seen that those stories were not the least bit interesting to Sigyn. She had made no attempt to disguise her lack of enthusiasm concerning that, of course she still had listened, but rarely inquired of anything and did not spur them on (and that had nothing to do with Vanir bitterness concerning Aesir and their battle-thirsty natures, which had led to the near extinction of the Vanaheim people a long, long ago).

The God of Trickery had been glad that Fandral had spent most of the feast away, obviously spending that time with female company. The reason behind such feelings towards that (the younger Prince had never cared for the male’s detours prior) was because of the attention the flirtatious man had given Loki’s woman, which he did not like the least bit (his possessiveness at those moments had to be severely repressed as it was sky-high).

Generally, by the end of the celebration, it was clear that the introduced Lady was liked by his brother’s friends, liked by _nearly_ all of them. She had managed to appeal to their tastes, so in a twisted kind of way the second-born was somewhat glad for their approval (not that **anyone’s** opinion mattered on the subject). The Storm God, Volstagg and Fandral (as little as he had spent present) had been quite open concerning their liking of the new ‘wife’. Hogun’s opinion had been a more difficult deduction, the judging factor was the fact that he had not been very grim throughout the whole gathering (and the Trickster God doubted that it had been simple ignoring of her presence and good mood – the warrior wasn’t the type of person to use his emotions like that). Ah, but Sif was a different matter entirely. The woman warrior had withheld any venomous or otherwise openly dislike-showing commentary, however her sour-lemon expression had been a dead giveaway. Perhaps it had been only factored by the fact that she was not the female highlight of the evening in their little group, but her barely held back wish to say something negative or mocking the other Goddess’s way had been very obvious to the lovers.

When the two had retired the feast-goers had already thinned out slightly, but the celebration of Julebord’s opening was still ongoing. However it was not to continue ‘till the light graced the heavens (it being late autumn, that dawn was a long, long wait away). Some of Jul’s feasts were like that, although not the ones that took place in this period or the next.

* * *

 

The God of Mischief was already beneath the covers of his bed. He was waiting for his beloved to join him. She was removing her accessories and clothing, and watching her he thought about what she was going to wear for sleeping. He hadn’t the slightest whether she had brought any nightgowns or such, however he had not commissioned anything like that for her. The boy-prince hoped that she was not going to sleep in that uncomfortable (for slumber) corset.

With bleary orbs he observed her as she untied the bottom half of the dress (the skirt) and left it where it had pooled down on the floor (and he did not mind that, not at all – his chaos was not unsettled by hers). The male was forced to bite back a groan when she freed herself of the leather corset and headed for the bed in the dim light. They were both tired from the whole ordeal (even if it had been successful) and neither wanted to make love right now. Still her bare torso taunted him, making his lazy brain begin spinning tricky ideas on how to get a touch of those delicious, perky breasts. The problem was that he was sure that the Princess would be angry if his hands would wander over her mounds.

Her whole trip to the curtained bed, in his eyes, had been a mixture of discomfort at being half-naked and (forced) casual uncaring. She quickly slipped underneath the thick blankets and when she was securely there, the God of spell-craft willed the lights to go out. He sighed contentedly (all squeeze-y thoughts forgotten) when he felt her nude chest press into his side as she curled into him.

The younglings exchanged whispered ‘goodnight’s and dreams were swift to enrapture them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jul – is a term used for the Christmas/Winter Solstice holiday season in some of the Scandinavian countries as well as a few other places.
> 
> I will list all of its six phases here, so that the explanation would not be divided by chapters – that way it would make sense better. Additionally, I do not live in any of the countries that celebrate Jul, nor have I been in one – so I don’t have personal insight on how that holiday period is celebrated. I haven’t made any huge researches on the topic, as I am only using the general idea of that festive season (therefore the traditions or names of the phases can be mash-ups of different versions from different countries, and etc.). Also, this piece of fiction is about Asgard and not Midgard, so the way Asgardians celebrate Jul does not have to be identical to old or modern traditions that are incorporated in said season’s festivities.
> 
> Jul consists of these six phases:  
> Julebord – begins in November and overlaps with the beginning of Advent, consists of communal parties, often held by the workplace for their employees;  
> Advent (in the fic is referred as the pre-Julaften period – for Advent is a christian tradition) – begins from the fourth Sunday from Christmas and lasts until Christmas, often considered a calm time of gathering oneself (other traditions will be reworked and incorporated in the next chapter, as well as further explained in the bottom author’s notes of the twenty-ninth chapter);  
> Julaften – Christmas/Christmas Eve;  
> Romjul – is the week between Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve;   
> Nyttar – New Year’s Eve/New Year;  
> Epiphany – the end of Jul (the date varies because the beginning date of Jul also varies each year), some people who are familiar with christianity (or certain branches of it, like some catholics) may recognize a similar winter season ending tradition on the sixth of January – it is often called the Three Kings or the Three Wise Men; on said day the Christmas tree and the decorations are removed.


	29. Confrontation. Part I

**Chapter twenty-nine**

**_Confrontation._ ** **Part I**

 

 

Julebord was coming to pass, the winter had begun and the two periods of the seasonal celebration were intertwining. Soon though this interlacing would be part of the past as well, and on the seventh day of the week – the pre-Julaften period would begin.

The weeks passed had been spent tamely by the two Godlings, without any _interferences_. They had not seen Njord throughout this time (although he was definitely present in the celebrations), however both knew that even with the Victorious Goddess’s luck – this fortune would not last. The younglings had also managed to avoid Frigga, who her son suspected was quite interested in cornering them both (Odin did not seem keen on doing so, despite his previous saying that he wished to speak with the ‘bride’, the King seemed to have forgotten that or maybe he simply found the matter not worthy his attention – with his childe actually acting the part of a proper husband and such).

They had been passive guests in all of the ongoing feasts, seldom appearing in them. Due to the nature (which was very sedate and composed) of both Julebord and the time of pre-Julaften there was little to no mingling between the guests. And the Throne Heir knew how much that upset the court’s folk – there where it concerned the freshly introduced (without any actual introductions) married couple. The noblewomen were simply dying to get their hands on the Vanir girl, desperately wanting to get their slandering tongues involved in the business of the wedded pair. The vile women also desired to know what it was like to be the wife of the God of Lies, there were many rumors flying about him and no one knew which of them could be true – since they all contradicted one another in the most insufferable of ways.

The two however upheld a façade that left very little room for intriguing speculations. Wherever they had went they appeared to be by each other’s side because of duty and not out of affection – and that was not going to change. Asgard did not need to know about their true relation – the bond that they shared with one another. If any sort of fondness would be suspected – that would cause more trouble than anything else. Whatever manner of a warmer relationship displayed in public – would severely jeopardize the young ones’ unchanged lives. Their separations would befall under greater scrutiny (because in the minds of Aesir – how could a wife be away from her husband, how could she not be there to care for the family hearth?), it would be heavily frowned upon for that, and any ‘trips’ would turn into deeply-rooted ‘facts’ of the presence of lovers out of wedlock. However if their connection would be assumed to be only that by law – all that mess could be avoided. If their relationship would be seen as cold – colder than the ices of Jotunheim, and that they could only tolerate each other’s presence (maybe even loathed it in private), then them not being together would not be judged or talked about for long. Because if a marriage was dreadful (and matrimonial unions were for life in Realm Eternal), then it was fully understandable that the spouses would take lovers on the side (although it was more acceptable if it were just the man that took part in infidelity).

They had spent most of their days (when away from the feasting halls) wandering Asgard, visiting the libraries, practicing magic and similar activities. Most of their nights though had been spent either somewhere in the less inhabited areas of the Golden World – walking underneath starry skies, or in the envy-green God’s chambers reading or conversing while curled into one another. Very rarely (just twice) in these weeks the two had spent the dark hours tangled in emerald sheets making love.

* * *

 

The young Lady woke up to a feathery touch that was tracing intricate patterns on her bare back. The sheet was twisted about her, not fully obscuring her naked body, but the bedchamber was warm – so it was all perfect. She turned to greet her lover, expecting to find him lying in the bed and she found him to be sitting on it, already dressed.

“Good morning” she said to him.

“Good morning” he replied warmly.

“You had abandoned me” she noted, adding “Naughty, naughty boy”

The young man set to loom over her as he playfully responded.

“I never said that I wasn’t naughty”

She flicked him lightly on the nose, much to his irritated delight.

“You are naughty, Mischief, that you are”

He pulled away when she made the motion of stretching. She arched like a cat, consciously allowing the green cover to slip down her body and reveal her bare torso. He knew that she was very aware of her physique and that she only allowed sight of it when it was at least slightly shielded by something, wanting to always create a certain mystique about her and to look beautiful. The male was also aware that this was not within the category of what she’d consider to be her comfort-zone. The bold act acted as a punishment to him, meaning to tease him for forgetting beside what kind of divinity he could have woken up.

He caught his tongue captive between his teeth, feeling pleasantly vexed by her mischievousness. The dip of her stomach taunted him – he wanted to touch it, and so – he did. The young God splayed his hand over her stomach and tried to explain himself.

“Oh no need for that, Sigga. I was a _very_ good boy and I had the best of intentions in mind”

The female cut his words short and interjected.

“Lies, lies, all lies, Silver Tongue!”

“But it is true--”

Alas again he was not allowed to finish what he was saying.

“ _Lies!_ ” she playfully hissed.

“I had only left to call for breakfast, and I swear no tricks were involved” despite the way it sounded, the Trickster God was saying the truth. He gestured towards a tray full of food, which rested on one of the nightstands.

The girl-woman’s eyes followed the direction his hand pointed at. Although she had not doubted his words (much), she still hadn’t dropped her game. However at the mention of food she quickly gathered the cover to herself, much to the boy-prince’s dismay. She had also noticed that while he was dressed, he was not yet dressed for the day. He only wore a pair of dark trousers and a light tunic made from green fabric – thus indicated that he had wakened not long before she had.

“Well then,” she said turning her gaze back to him “Bad boys that do good for their owners should be rewarded” and with that she tugged on his shirt (still clutching the sheet to her body), pulling him down for a tender kiss.

He did not show it but he did perk up because of the promise of a ‘reward’ like a puppy. Although a satisfied smirk did appear on his beautiful, sharp features. The God of Mischief allowed his orbs to observe his lovely, sparkly green eyed Goddess. He was slightly surprised at the new color her hair had taken to shifting into, he then decided that he should try and find the emotions that spurned the changes (because it made sense in a nonsensical way that such a thing could be a mood indicator). Hazel was the Asgard-seen color; various shades of red often told of her being passionate about something (usually when she was passionate _atop_ or _beneath_ him); pale blond was her cold-realm tint – perhaps means of camouflage, her adapting to the surroundings. And now her locks were of a vibrant shade of orange (matching marvelously with the current spring green of her eyes). However the auburn color was not the most unusual thing, her hair was not as disheveled as it was supposed to be (having in mind the night prior), it just lied in glistening, silken waves on the pillows as if on purpose placed like that. It seemed that even that aspect of her nature had a mind of its own, which wasn’t that odd since he had seen the color-indecisive strands curl or straighten all on their own.

The Princess rose into a seated position, with that damnable bedcover obscuring the view. Her orbs were after the delicious food (looking in the completely opposite direction than he was) as she absentmindedly requested of him, outstretching her arm.

“Give me my clothing”

“I cannot do that”

“What?” her head snapped as her confusion was given voice.

“I have not the slightest as to where your clothes are, love”

“What do you mean?” she asked, frowning.

“They are all over the place, I would not even know where to begin looking for them”

“Fiend” the woman accused him for his inadequacy, although she was not angry at him (maybe, a little). Still she really did not like the idea of having to eat her morning meal with only a satin sheet wrapped around her.

* * *

 

The two had been spending the afternoon in the deserted library (one of the many) in the Golden Palace and they had planned on spending the evening there too. The day had not been boring, not at all. The two royal younglings were very passionate about the books they had pored over. They had been involved in exhilarating conversations, not in the least silent, over the information that they’d been trying to research.

The long (but not exhausting) task that they had given themselves required something to ease the brunt of the time they had spent being so marvelously busy. Therefore Loki left to get a servant to fetch them some tea and some snacks to go with it. He had just left the impressive librarium, when he realized that his luck had run out. His name was called tenderly and the voices in his head were all mournfully repeating that it was _too soon_.

He hadn’t expected Frigga’s passive tactics in cornering him to become quite so active. Now it was obvious that a chance encounter was not the means of meeting that would occur as he had foreseen. He was slightly shocked to find that even the Queen’s eternal patience had managed to wane.

The Princeling instantly put on the façade of surprise (well, he was slightly surprised) even though he had known that this was going to happen.

“Mother” he greeted, giving a few second pause to sound convincing as he uttered his next words. “Were you perhaps heading to the library?” the chances that she was genuinely heading there for the tomes that lied on the thousands of shelves (and not him and his Lady) were equal to nil.

She oh so brilliantly avoided his question and her tone was so even and calm that it would have betrayed her true motives to no one (but there was no deceiving the God of Deceit).

“Ah, dear, I was wondering whether you and your... wife” the slightest of pauses was barely caught, it was so inconspicuous “Have any plans for this evening?”

The God of Trickery knew that there was no way that he could back out of this situation. There were no actual plans that would be sufficient enough in order to avoid what the elder Goddess would request and there was no convincing lie that he could tell.

“No, we do not. Is something the matter?” he inquired, trying to show a bit of false concern.

“No, everything is alright. I was just hoping that you two would join me for tea this evening”

“Oh, it would be no trouble” he assured, although he had to bite back his disdain. “However I had thought that you would be attending the feast tonight...” the Godling trailed off absentmindedly.

“They are so tedious, darling... I had been present in each of them these past weeks, not that you would know” she gave him a slight smile and he tried to look a bit ashamed because he should have been there (although he and his brother were not too concerned with things that did not interest them or were boring). “I wanted to spend this evening away from the celebrations, and seeing as you are not so keen on being there as well, I had hoped that you and Sigyn would join me”

He confirmed his agreement once more and then they exchange the details. Throughout the short meeting the Prince was trying to contain his reluctance, while the Queen was trying to do the same with her satisfaction over the outcome.

When his mother left he allowed himself to sigh dejectedly, and the morning had begun so well... He really did not want to break the news about this unexpected turn of events to his beloved.

* * *

 

His love had taken this new development better than he had expected. It wasn’t all that surprising though because despite how much she seemed in her element here in Asgard, in the great fortress – she really wasn’t. And that illusion was so convincing only because he had not given it much thought. She had not just considered everything that could occur here – like he had, no, she was much more aware of it and probably rarely forgot where she was. To him this was _hom_ e, this was where he was _meant_ to be – where he belonged, and to her this world was only the place where two of her connections (although they were very precious to her) resided.

Her mood had not taken a turn for the worse, as they languidly made their way to the chamber the evening tea ‘party’ would commence – her step was light and slightly playful. He discreetly looked over to the bewitching young woman that strolled beside him. Her very visage would be so inappropriate and so gaudy to any Aesir, but he was not within that category of Asgardians. This was probably not the best first impression she could make, however he worried little for it, knowing that his mother was not likely to judge as strongly as most would based on only the dress of a person. She could have dressed a little less so much... like herself really, and the Heir was conflicted on what to feel about that. For one he enjoyed very much how she had changed for the meeting, however on the other hand this was not the best choice, if the goal was to gain the full approval of the highborn Goddess (he was sure that that wasn’t the girl’s objective and wondered whether he should worry about that).

She wore a vibrant strapless gown, with a moderate neckline and with some flare at the bottom. However it was not the silhouette that was the most outrageous thing about it, it was the color (or more accurately _colors_ ) of the fabric. It was like an explosion of rainbow, such colors that even the Rainbow Bridge failed to compare, they were so bright that it was painful to look at (although for that aspect the Lie God was a masochist, so that issue was not a problem for him). It was an audacious choice and completely in reverse of the winter season – but the Vanir was just that – a constant contradiction of everything Realm Eternal stood for. The blinding colors were only accentuated by her jewelry: she wore rings on every finger almost all were made of black metal (except for the silver snake), also tens of hair-thin bracelets and just as many various necklaces – all made of the same metal. Alas it was not just the dress that was insulting to any Aesir sight and tradition, her hair was just the same. It was norm in Asgard that married women would wear their hair up or at least partially done-up – another thing she did not approve of (and all the better because her man loved it when she wore it down). Her hazel hair was loose with the exception of two little braids that framed her face (one even had two tiny white feathers tied together with the string that held the braid).

When the Trickster opened the doors he was not met with anything that he wasn’t expecting to see. It was one of the Queen’s preferred chambers. All in pastels hues – from the wallpapers with floral designs to the fabrics and pillows of the soft furniture. There were heavy tapestries with inanimate objects and floral arrangements on them, oil paintings with blossoming spring motives depicted on them. White marble and fine mahogany, plush carpets and intricate lights – were all there too. The room was not too crowded with furniture, there were a few sofas and matching armchairs, a variety of cabinets meant for storage (books, porcelain and the sort), several tables and a delicate round one with three chairs placed about it – one was occupied by the elder woman herself.

The royal male ushered the female inside and closed the doors. By that time Frigga had already stood from her seat as she welcomed them.

“Loki, Sigyn, I am so glad that you could make it”

“Mother” he said in response.

The younger woman bowed her head slightly and it was _not_ the proper way to greet a Queen. However the said matriarch did not seem bothered by this, even if the girl would have done everything appropriately etiquette wise, he was sure that she would have said that since they were family – thus was not required anymore. Still, it was a bold action to make without her explicit consent.

“My Queen, it is an honor to join you this evening” she replied in greeting.

Without further ado, the older Goddess gestured for the two empty chairs opposite hers.

“Please sit”  

The Godlings did as they were told and took the two seats that were beside each other, opposite to the elder woman’s. The young Lady smiled politely (and her smile was not faux or strained in the least bit).

He could see that Frigga was very eager to finally get some involvement in that, which she had wanted to be an integral part of, alas had been denied of. She wished to begin the conversation, but as was appropriate to the good hostess that she was, and so (without the calling of any servants) she filled their cups and plates. With pieces of cake, biscuits and pastries now placed in the delicate platters and rosehip tea steaming in their cups – it was time for the evening meeting to commence.

“My dear, I am so glad that I have finally met you” the High Goddess said to the younger female.

“I am very honored to meet your acquaintance as well, my Queen” without allowing any interjection (concerning the use of proper titles, which were not necessary seeing as she was now connected to the royal family of Asgard), the girl-woman continued “However the circumstances had not been... right”

Because the Dark Prince knew his mother as well as he did, he noticed the slight rise of her eyebrow that hinted at surprise over the Vanir’s careful but open phrasing. It fit her character, the way she explained her absence, however he wondered (for the umpteenth time that day) whether this would go well. He tried to quell his anxiety concerning the matter.

“I have been preoccupied with family matters and I couldn’t have attended any sooner” with that she finished her explanation for the time of absence.

The God of Lies inwardly winced at how bad things might go. His bearer was a kind and understanding woman, however even she had to have her limits when it came to tradition-trampling. He had not thought enough on the subject though and even while he saw the error of his ways – he was painfully aware that there was no solution to this.

Frigga did not inquire on the ‘family matters’ that the Princess claimed to have been so busy with. She really had no reason to doubt that statement (for it could be entirely plausible – she had no knowledge as to what Freya was doing at the moment and the Love Goddess was most possibly the relative the child spoke of). Therefore she decided that she could find nothing valuable within gaining of further information on that (if the girl had truly been delayed with what she claimed).

She chose not to linger on the matter anymore – the upbringing of this young woman was far too different from that of a noble Aesir girl, it was not right to get into lectures so instantly after she had just truly met her. However she hoped that it would not come to that – the lecturing; that soon her son’s wife would take up the duties she should without digressing into her own (already dead) culture. And there was nothing wrong with respecting one’s heritage or traditions, however it was inappropriate for a wife to follow them as dutifully as before. By Asgard’s traditions (because the young Goddess was married to an Asgardian) all blood-ties were not her own any longer. Ancestors, parents and siblings – were all her _past_ family, her husband and their children would be her true family. The Queen could only hope that no more than careful steering into the right direction would be needed for her child’s spouse to understand and accept that. Vanir were stubborn people (or had been, if she was honest with herself) and were not ones to go against what they considered ‘their own’, therefore forceful tactics were not to be used against them (and if anything, the Monarch was gifted with delicate techniques, since both of her sons were quite headstrong – she often had to use them). She took a sip of her tea and changed the subject slightly.

“Well, let us not linger on the past anymore. Now that you are here, Sigyn, there is so much to do” she continued elaborating with good spirits “You two have to choose a wing of the palace – which would be your own. You cannot use your old chambers now, Loki”

The God of Deceit was forced to close his mouth and shush the instant objection because his lover had beaten him to it.

“That will not be necessary. My stay will not be very long, the family matters I mentioned aren’t finished. There is no need to make any changes considering accommodations” she said carelessly as if brushing off the issue with an apathetic hand. The Goddess of _Victory_ was respectful but firm on the matter, her tone very final.

The older woman’s face showed surprise (and not the good kind) stronger than before – it was obvious that she had not expected any opposition to something she considered only logical and even trivial.

Noticing the expression of her mother-in-law (because that was what she was to her now) Sigyn was quick to add something to soothe her. The girl’s words were followed by a beautiful smile (although not too sweet, so it did not seem fake).

“At least for now” she said. The Lie God (and it had nothing to do with what the element he reigned over was) who sat beside her, knew that his love was lying. It wasn’t a bad lie, not at all – it was very convincing, however depending on what Frigga truly thought about his ‘wife’ – would rule how much benefit of doubt his beloved would be given.  

To say that the elder Goddess was not surprised was a gargantuan understatement. It was the most unexpected thing to hear. However she was wise and she would never judge anything so quickly. Still it was difficult for her to cast away various probabilities behind the reasoning, but she chose not to linger on them.

It was unheard of – what the younger female had said, to decline (not that there was even a possibility of declining something what the Vanir girl had no power over) such prospect of luxurious living as the spouse of a realm Prince. She had cast away completely the fact that she had to pick a wing, in which her and her husband’s own nest would be, but that was not even the most puzzling thing of all. The most peculiar thing about it was that she had denied her responsibility as if she was utterly uncaring about her family life and the riches that came with it. It was as though she cared not the least bit about something that was so important and was not interested in living within truly godly conditions – that fact was simply without a logical explanation. It was as if she had a different rule of living, her own agenda (one that – surprisingly – did not orbit about wealth or status, or pride over both).

But since the highborn woman was who she was – she decided to begin forming her impressions of this young Lady at least after the evening. She wished to have faith over her son’s decisions. She knew that often to understand Loki’s ploys or line of thought one had to look long and deep to see the core. She hoped that his marriage was in reality not without thought on his part.

Frigga was so shocked by this revelation that she even glanced her child’s way, in expectancy for him to say something over the matter. Her youngest son however did not meet her eyes with an intention to explain or to oppose his wife’s words. He did not seem at all surprised, not at all. He looked as though he had known that this would be said and had nothing against it. The male Godling was obviously uncomfortable though (and not in the bored fashion), but if she had not known him as much as she did – she would have surely missed it. His needle-sitting pose to anyone else would have been drowned out by his lie-air of uncaring. What was strange about his reaction was that he was not upset (or embraced by any other negative emotion) because of his wife’s reluctance to live with him (he was clearly apathetic to that), but because he worried over what she – his mother, would think about it.

The older female would have tried to get more from the other Goddess – if the attempts would have yielded any fruit. She was aware that no prodding would move the newly (although not that recently) wedded couple. She could see that the girl-woman was firm in her beliefs, even if the wife of the Allfather did not yet understand what those were. And if that analysis of Lord Njord’s granddaughter’s character was correct – then it was quite fitting (although that did not please the Queen) that her second-born childe’s spouse would match him so well on that aspect of his personality. If Freya’s daughter was anything like Frigga’s son, then there would be no use to try and force anything out of her by very direct or badly-timed methods. Her youngling was exceedingly stubborn and so – only the most tentatively used techniques would ever unravel what he hid (although frequently that only happened because he allowed it to happen – and the Monarch knew that). Therefore using that basis, she chose to leave this pressing matter for another time.

* * *

 

All three Gods inwardly agreed that the evening had been a moderate success. With the two younglings long departed, the Queen sat with a glass of wine in an armchair beside a window that offered her a nice overview of the palace’s inner gardens, which were lit by a huge pale full-moon. She was glad that with the heavy matters dropped Loki had managed to relax and join the conversation fully. She did not lament the fact that she had not garnered the information she so wished to get because the wise female knew that seemingly trivial information could reveal a lot about one’s personality.

However she still did not know what to think about her son’s chosen bride. As much as she could tell after this short time of knowing, the girl appeared to have a strong intellect that allowed her to be able to match (to an extent) her clever-tongued child’s wit. The young Vanir Lady was also quite well versed in literature (a subject neither of the three was indifferent to), a theme which had dominated their evening tea gathering. Sigyn matched Loki’s character well, though she was similar in that aspect, therefore not a good match for their personalities had the capacity of colliding. And Frigga worried because both had the ability to be so opinionated that should their opinions differ – they could clash terribly, with neither of the children willing to back down.

It was not the kind of partner she would have chosen for either of her Princes. And oh, how fast had they both grown up! Not even in her wildest dreams had she seen one of her boys married off so quickly! The High Goddess had always envisioned that she would be part of these matters, alas she had not been involved at all! No advices were requested from her or her husband and none were given without asking. She had not witnessed how her young had courted his chosen, for there had not been any courting involved at all! The second-born Heir’s father had not been present in any dealings with the girl’s family concerning the betrothal, for one had not even happened! And she, she was not there to help the bride pick her wedding gown, just as she did not oversee the planning of the ceremony (she had her touch there, but it was impersonal, the wedding had not been a royal one, nor one thrown for her son).

And the bride, the bride – oh was she not what the Monarch (and she was the Goddess of Marriage!) wanted her to be. Both of her babies needed tender, compliant and ardently tradition-following women! Alas her dark haired boy had gotten one that did not match that description at all. Frigga knew a free spirit when she saw one and that was exactly what the Sea God’s grandchild was. In her mind’s eye she had always seen the wives of both Thor and Loki to be the true overseers of the family hearth, the very epitomes of domesticity. Women capable of caring for their children; perfect and exemplary figures at court; with the abilities to soothe their husbands after warring conflicts and like bentgrass having the capacity of surviving every storm that the dalliances (infidelities) of their spouses brought. The Asgardian Queen sighed – Freyadottir did not seem the least bit interested in the family hearth.  

The very root of her worries though was her childe’s relationship with the Goddess. She had observed their interactions throughout the celebrations the couple had attended and they seemed awfully cold to her – that was not the problem however. The royal woman was aware that the young man was very intent on not showing his emotions and attachments in public – and what she had observed tonight disclosed to her his true feelings towards his wife. She had caught the way he had discreetly tried to watch the now-princess, and while everything indicated lack of interest – his eyes though were mirrors to what he truly felt. The mother saw adoration in those green orbs, pure through and through adoration. She failed to see the same in Freya’s daughter’s eyes, there was a slight interest, but it did not rival the affection, perhaps even love, that she saw in her son’s eyes. This lack of genuine warmth upset her. She would have had nothing against this if it were just a fleeting fancy for Loki, but this was marriage – something of a whole different realm than a lover taken in youth. Matrimonial unions often cooled after years, alas she feared that it would not for her young (she had seen him so enthralled only with magic and she knew how much spells and enchantments meant for the Godling now), while the Aesir Ruler was not even as close to being sure that Sigyn’s interest would not wane though.

She remembered how her husband had been just after the ‘trick marriage’ (it was so painfully to say that, even in her own thoughts). And after having spent millennia as Odin’s wife she knew him well, he was less angry with the hit to his fatherly pride because underneath that – he was worried. He had said nothing, but Frigga was aware that he knew something that she did not (and she did not ask, if he was not willing to share – it was not her place to ask), it had to do something with their child because that was what he was so unsettled by. Without words the royal woman had understood that the King worried over their son’s heart, meaning that something in the bride did not please him. And true to her suspicions, after their childe had returned, the Allfather instantly announced the girl-woman to be the Goddess of Fidelity and Bonds. Her husband’s word was law – but would it be enough, somehow she had little faith over that...

The Vanir female would be forced to be faithful to her husband as well as honor every oath and word, but that did not mean that she would be unable to... stray. Painful that would be – but no less possible. Sigyn could be loyal to Loki, but that loyalty would not be enough to substitute a proper wife he could have had. She could fight her title with all her might – and the Asgardian woman saw that she was stubborn enough for that. And oh, oh, if Freya was not an example of how one could be loyal and yet anything but? Would it be not probable for a daughter to be just like her mother?

The Aesir female remembered well the Vanir Princess’s tragedy... Who would have ever thought that the love of the Love Goddess could have been anything but perfect – none had. Freya had been so, so in love with Ódr... She had worshipped the very ground he walked upon and swooned from the man’s chaste kisses and he, he was always so kind to her, so gentle and always smiling – it was the envy of all of Asgard’s women (unmarried and married alike). Then there was a wondrous, magnificent wedding (rivaled by only the royal wedding of the Aesir Rulers’); and no one had cared that a noblewoman was marrying an ordinary soldier – all seemed happy (if slightly jealous) for them. But then unexpectedly, not even thirty years had managed to pass, and after a battle Ódr had simply not returned. None had seen him perish – he simply disappeared. And so his beautiful wife was left alone, with two infant girls on her hands (although the number, in such a short time, was greatly envied by many, achieving such had only been possible because the woman was the Goddess of Fertility). Long had Freya shed tears, tears that heart-broke so many (even those that wished her ill for her happiness) that they even called them golden and began whispering her to be the Goddess of Gold as well. Unable to deal with her grief in Realm Eternal she had left, discarded her children (no one knew where) and then she began following rumors in vain hopes to locate her missing husband. But while her love was so great that many Asgardians said that it had driven her mad, she did not remain faithful. While she was not travelling with winds around the Nine – searching and searching, then she spent her time in the arms of men. The Goddess of Love had even managed to mother four more daughters (and many Aesir said that maybe she had given birth to more children, only they had no knowledge of them because they had never been brought to Asgard). Freya had never stopped searching, but when she was not looking for what was lost forever, then she took lovers by the thousandth (in all actuality there were much more of them than that).

So maybe the fourth daughter, now family to the royalty of Asgard, would too always loyally be beside her husband when he needed her (or when she wanted to be there). But it was possible that she would never be present always, never waiting – always floating somewhere where no one knew her to be, and never truly Loki’s. And how such a possibility hurt his mother! She cared not for the pride of the house of Odin (although she would never say that out loud), all she cared for was her children’s happiness.

Frigga shook herself – she had promised not to allow these thoughts to take over and yet she had done just that. Perhaps it was far too early to judge some things; they were truly so young – maybe with time both would grow into being the husband and wife they were supposed to be. Her mischievous babe had chosen the girl – hopefully his choice was a good one; and she as a mother needed to respect that. The woman was willing to compromise, compromise quite a lot (although no compromises were possible, but she was already compromising – looking through her fingers where it concerned this union) – as long as her child would be happy. Barely anything really mattered where it concerned Loki’s happiness. She was ready to sacrifice great many a thing for good and prosperous lives for her sons – the Heirs of the Golden Throne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freya’s tears of gold – that is an allusion to her myth persona, for she cries tears of red gold whenever Ódr is away. 
> 
> Sigyn being the fourth daughter of Freya – in the universe I have created, her being the fourth daughter is correct. Because (from the children mentioned in this fic – and there is the possibility of the Love Goddess having more) there are six daughters in total: Hnossa and Gersemi (from Ódr), Lofn, Sigyn, Nanna and Syn (from Iwaldi).
> 
>  
> 
> Sigyn in bazaar-style clothes, lol.


	30. Confrontation. Part II

**Chapter thirty**

**_Confrontation._ ** **Part II**

 

 

Winter had finally embraced Realm Eternal, each day growing colder and colder, but the temperature not falling into negative. The leaves and blossoms had all shimmered away into golden dust – signifying the arrival of the cold season. The pre-Julaften period was nearly, nearly dead and gone. As it so happened, Little Julaften had fallen out on the last seventh day of the fourth week of pre-Julaften.

Sigyn had made a request of Loki, a different interpretation of the tradition that was associated with the pre-Julaften period of Jul in Asgard. The custom she had wanted to follow was Vanir. And of course the God of Magic could not have said no to his beloved. As asked of him, he had lit a candle (even did it manually without the use of spells) and placed it in his chambers by the window that faced Vanaheim. When the Lady had first spoken of candles he had assumed that she wanted a wreath with four of them, the number of the lit ones growing by each passing of the seventh day of the week – that was how it was done by the Asgardians. However he had been wrong. She had explained to him that this tradition (the placement of the candles by the windows) was in order to call upon the ones that were lost or away – so that they could return back safely.

When the young man had inquired whether she had anyone who was lost to her – she had told him that she hadn’t. Thus had logically led to the question of why did she even want this to be done then – that garnered him a further elaboration of the custom. It was not done just for the living, but also for the deceased, so that their spirits would never fall from their paths. Naturally this revelation had spawned his inquiry on whether she had any loved ones that befell that category (because as much as he knew, she had no living nor dead people that were ‘lost’ to her). Her response had not been what he had expected (for he anticipated another ‘no’, and that all of this was just because she liked the tradition) – the girl said that she wanted to commemorate her deceased Vanir ancestors – as simple as that. And she hadn’t had the need to ask him whether he found that somehow offensive (because he was an Aesir and his people were the ones guilty of the annihilation of the Vanir kind, so doing something in their memory might have collided with his love for his homeland) – because she knew that the God didn’t find it to be such, and of course she was not wrong.

And so on Little Julaften fours beacons were burning facing the four directions – east, west, north and south (although just two were placed before windows, seeing as the Throne Heir’s haven was part of the palace, therefore not a separate structure to have outside walls to all of the world directions). They were left alone in his rooms, to burn until the wax would melt and the wickers would be extinguished by it.

Leaving his abode of envy-green the sorcerer ‘locked’ the doors (activated all the wards that guarded his chambers) and walked arm in arm with his lover to the feast that was soon to begin. The two younglings headed for the celebration early. By experience the God of Deceit knew that it promised to be bustling, although by the idea it shouldn’t be. Still, everyone in Asgard was brimming with energy – from the nobility that were heavily involved in organizing and the people of a lower social standing who were busy with making preparations as well as manually working on making the plans of the intelligentsia into reality – for the first of the two culminations of Jul (Julaften and Nyttar). Therefore arriving later would not lessen their chances of meeting any unsavory characters (meaning – Njord).

They had agreed to Thor’s prompting for meeting earlier, although previously they had declined most of his invites. The married royals had not done so because a more private gathering would be boring or because they had little tolerance for the man’s friends, the reason behind it was that they simply had better things to do (even if they hadn’t had any specific plans).

The Vanir Goddess was in a pleasant mood (so was he), it was obvious by the way she beamed at him with her infectious grin – apparently the holiday spirit was beginning to overtake her too. From the corner of his eye he delicately watched her, perhaps selfishly commending his own good taste. The Lie God was glad that his vivid imagination could appease her outrageous sense of style. She wore another gown of his commissioning and she had vocally showed her appreciation for his bothering of gifting her such gorgeous clothing.

It was a dress with long sleeves that widened at her hands, the body of it hugged her form exquisitely and flared from her knees like a tail of a mythical water creature. It was fashioned out of lacy fabric, which had a silvery white color that shimmered just like the snow the young woman adored so much. However it was not conservative: the cut on the back was sinfully low; the material that covered the top of her décolleté, stomach and the sides of her thighs was more of an open threadwork (it was semitransparent). The glittering glory was all marvelously accentuated by a large blossom of a crimson flower – poinsettia, which adorned her hair (enchanted by the Master Sorcerer himself, so that it would stay perfect for a long, long time) and her plump lips and long sharp fingernails that were painted in the same color. Rubies and diamonds sparkled in her ears and loosely up-done hair, the length of which was halved twice by the heavy curling it had undergone. His love’s visage was breathtaking, he absently wondered whether he would ever stop marveling at her so – he was resolved to not let such a day come.

* * *

 

The setting was enjoyable. If Thor and most of his warrior-friends were in light spirits prior, then now they were all encased in the festive mood. Even the grim one – Hogun, was quite comfortable in the loud surrounding, a ghost of a satisfied expression lingered on his physiognomy and his frequently faraway gaze was even more distant (perhaps in reminiscence of something, something what he considered positive). Sif too, clad in a conservative navy colored gown with golden ornaments in her dark hair (of course incapable to measuring up to Sigyn’s outlandish beauty and bold garb), was more tolerant than usual to the younger Prince’s presence (and possibly his beloved’s).

The tentative music (fit for the current season) was outrivaled by the moderate in volume conversations. There was no dancing and there wouldn’t be. Still the guests mingled around the long tables, walking from one to another in order to interact and laugh with those who were seated further away from them. The food was delicious (even if not the very best the autumn harvest could offer – it was, after all, the pre-Julaften period) and ale, wine, mead and other beverages flowed freely – however not in quantities that would leave the feast-gatherers inebriated beyond the realm of propriety.  

Quite a few hours had passed. The two young Gods were not opposed to mingling within the small crowds. They were still true to their roles, slightly eccentric (to fit their actual characters), but deceitful in their essence. The girl-woman was moderately cold even with her overpowering smiles (her garb only added to her unswayable and frosty attitude). She stood near him as he was conversing with several noblemen. Sometime later she wondered off a bit from him and the Trickster God kept up his attentiveness toward the people he spoke with, all the while keeping an eye on his lover. As she turned away he noticed that she appeared to be somewhat spellbound, but in a manner that revealed her to be searching for something.

As she stopped walking some distance from him, her halting did not attract any vivid attention. He soon found out what she had sensed to be coming. Through the strings of the Aesir a beam of light rushed towards the Princess. A tiny child, unchanged since the last time both had laid their eyes upon her, frantically ran to her direction. She shined in her extra-puffy dress, heavily embroidered with golden threads. The only difference (if it could have been called that) was her hair, still in the short straight cut – but curled into delicate ringlets.

The Goddess did something that should have conflicted with her regality, however did not in her man’s eyes. She quickly knelt down and spread her arms in waiting to embrace the little girl. The boy-prince had already quietly slinked away from the conversation (unnoticed by the other conversants), choosing to do so nearly unconsciously. He moved to the side, taking his place in the half-shadows, because of his new place of standing he was able to get a look at the impending exchange from a better position. It also allowed his honed vision to see that both of the sisters were very close to shedding tears of joy because of their reunion.

Syn rushed into the older female’s arms and was pressed tightly to her chest. Sigyn whispered her baby-sister’s name while hugging her even closer to herself. She kissed all over the child’s face: her forehead, cheeks and lips. After the display of sisterly affection she cupped the girl’s cheeks and stroked her hair, smiling tenderly at her younger sister.

Loki stood at the side, a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips as he observed the joy-brimming scene. But soon the idyll shattered, the tiny Lady looked up at her sibling with a look of fright on her childish physiognomy. She was about to utter something that from the looks of it would have been a warning, however her frantic attempt failed – cut short because the trap had shut. He saw the Vanir woman’s back become as taunt as a finely wound string and she raised her angry orbs. Even though her senses were not yet honed to their full capacity she had already sensed the aura that had entered her explicit field of sensation.

“Sigyn” her name rung in her ears, with a taste of sea (she had enjoyed it being laced with such an ethereal scent and now loathed it with an ardent passion).

Now tears of dread ran down Syn’s chubby cheeks as she turned in the direction of the voice. An elderly man stood a dozen feet away from the two sisters. He wore a simple woolen tunic of navy blue, with plain trousers in the color of water-darkened sand – the garb did not speak of the God’s high status. The hard lines of his face were not framed by loose hair, as always the dark gray locks were gathered in a ponytail and only a few strands had escaped from their slickened-back state, touching his forehead. His authoritatively clenched jaw was covered in a short, well-trimmed and styled beard – only the hair on his chin was longer. The old male’s eyes were of the stormiest sea blue, matching in both hue and intensity to that of his enraged kin’s.

She met him as though it were a challenge, cold in demeanor but seething in flames within (and she was not aware, but her Godling-lover was in the same state, he remained put, but was ready to intervene at any moment – should that be necessary). She would have stayed protectively crouched over the babe, alas she knew that that would do little to protect the child from whatever wrath their maternal grandfather could display. Being mindful to keep the tiny girl by herself, she stood to her full height and addressed the nobleman.

“Njord” her tone was indifferent. The way she called him obviously stung – she no longer referred to him as her grandfather and she even denied him of his true status, with such a casual air no less.

The God of the Seas tried to ignore that as best as he could – at least for now. However his anger could not be contained even though he did not lash out at his older granddaughter. He bristly called the younger’s name.

“Syn”

The girl-woman felt a tremble at her legs, the material of her skirt was encased in a grip of a shaking miniature hand.

Having not received the proper answer to his call, he repeated in a firmer tone (in his mind – because in reality it had turned more displeased, the dangerous kind of displeased).

“Syn, go to Lofn and Nanna”

The ordered one still hesitated and her elder was about to interject, when the Lord hissed in controlled volume.

“Now, Syn!”

The little girl should have answered in agreement, although she did not (she had at least that much rebellion in her) and simply trotted away to find her older siblings, without raising her saddened orbs his way. It was not extremely shocking, but enough so that the Dark Prince’s love had momentarily lost all her words. She watched in strange disbelief as the child walked away and did not even turn back to look at her mournfully.

The abandoned sister tried to stomp away her anger – not the one cast her grandfather’s way, but the one that wanted to go in flares the Lady-child’s way. She willed herself to feel apathetic towards it – it was not like she hadn’t thought thus to be a plausible option (that of course did not mean that Syn’s swift obedience did not hurt). Now though she could not protect the tiny female, she would have – but it was pretty clear that the child believed her older sibling to be incapable of such or maybe she did not want her protection, either way that was a battle the victory bringer had lost.

The moment the youngest grandchild had disappeared amongst the crowds (and the feast was busy and at this point nobody cared to even notice the unfurling drama between the royal ones who had originated from Vanaheim) the old man began his questioning.

“Where have you been?”

The Trickster stood leaning against a pillar – noticeable, however just as unnoticed as the two Gods who stood in palpable tension just between two of the many grand tables. No one paid any attention to them – not purposely ignoring them, but simply too engrossed in their own good mood to notice anything that would fail to coexist with it. Any other individuals, with better observation skills, were just as oblivious to the family drama unfolding because of the general movement of the feast-goers. The young man remained passive with difficulty. The reason behind his lack of action was because he was aware that his beloved would not appreciate him coming to her ‘rescue’, it would lower her power in the older God’s eyes. She required no aiding, she needed the confrontation.

The Lord’s first question was peculiar to the observing male, as it was quite poorly chosen (but to the Lady-granddaughter who knew her grandfather better – it was not surprising, she knew that anger could often scatter his prudent plans, it was a Vanir trait after all – to allow one’s emotions to rule them).

Concealing inner fires the young woman answered coolly.

“I do not see how that is any of your business”

With a sharp twitchy shake of his head the Sea God said.

“Of course it is my business, I am your grandfather--”

His words however were cut short by an icy sentence uttered by the Princess.

“You have lost all right to call yourself my grandfather when you arranged that accursed marriage”

Taming his fuming discontent (but not too successfully) Njord tried to reason.

“I did it all for your own good! Can’t you see that?” his words were shortened, a fisherman’s accent seeping into his perfect Aesir court speech. “I’m your grandfather, your own family, how can you renounce that?!” the volume did not rise, but confused anger permeated everything he said.

With freezing triumph Sigyn raised her hand (not as though for a man to lay a kiss upon it, but upwards in a near commanding gesture) showing off the silver serpent that was her marriage band.

“I am a married woman now. And, my,” she feigned surprise after saying the word, placing the same hand near her parted lips, then gracefully lowering it as she continued “By Asgard you are no longer my family, my husband is. Why, shouldn’t you be glad? Hadn’t you wanted me to act like a true Asgardian?” All the things she told were true. By written laws of Realm Eternal a female wedded – together with her husband formed a new family (new house colors, sigil – if need be, and so on), while leaning to the clan of the man. It was not written that a married woman should forsake her bloodline and parentage, but by tradition – her interest should first lie with the one she had been united and his family.

“That doesn’t mean that you should lose all your respect to who ya are!”

“Oh, like you had?”

The ex-Ruler’s stormy eyes narrowed at the reminder about his severed ties with Vanaheim. But he ignored her perfectly delivered jab.

“We are your family, Sigyn! We care for you!”

She snorted.

“The care you speak of is acidic poison to me. No thanks, keep it to yourself”

Inside the former realm King bubbled, boiled. He could see that this tactic was not yielding any fruit. So he released a stressed sigh, crossed his arms over his chest and looked at his grandchild tenderly.

“What have you done?” he asked, but the question was difficult to decipher, it sounded rhetoric and the female said nothing. The older one resumed speaking “Why ‘ave you chosen t’ agree marrying the second Prince?”

Both younglings were quite sure that this was the tone the old God had used with his daughter – Freya, when his wrath was rendered useless.

“Why had you not protested it? He’ll only break yer tender heart. I’ve seen stories like that occur hundred, thousands o’ times. Had you only disagreed, then you’d be now married t’ some man whose deeds would give ya honor. But when you’re gone an’ wanderin’ like your mother, he’ll stay in his royal palace and take lovers to his royal bed. And alas there’ll be no honor of his for ya to take solace in. The best you’ll ever get ‘ll be just pity”

The Goddess rolled her eyes as flippantly as she possibly could. She pursed her lips at the ridiculousness of his warnings (and they were not so ridiculous, but since they were directed at her, at _them_ – they were).

“Don’t speak about something you know nothing about, just don’t. You always told me not talk about things I know nothing about, but it’s obvious that you don’t take your own advice”

The moment of calm sadness ended for the God of Seas, only to be replaced by renewed rage and he barely kept his tone low enough as to not attract attention.

“Listen to yourself, you foolish child!” seeing that he was not garnering any reaction from his granddaughter he continued “If ya say yourself to be such an Asgardian then act like one! Act like a proper Asgardian should!”

“You have no right to give me advice, much less tell me what to do!”

The God of Mischief noticed how his lover’s manner of speaking and posture changed. Her words were no longer from the realm of cold indifference and her fists were clenched, and body slightly crouched as though she was about to fend off a physical attack or initiate one.

“I have all the right, I’m your grandfather!”

“You are nothing to me!” she hissed venomously.

For just a fraction of a second Njord was taken aback and then the damn that secured his rage was broken.

“How dare you?!”

This was the cue for the God of Trickery to take his part in this play. He disallowed the Vanir God’s tirade to continue as it was beginning to tread into very dangerous zones. He left his post by the pillar and faster than the older male could say another word, he seemingly magically (although no magic was incorporated) appeared by his woman’s side. He swiftly wrapped his arm possessively about her waist and felt her relax slightly into him as she felt his presence appear beside her. With the best of his silver tongue’s capacity the God of Lies fluently entwined himself into the ‘conversation’. Although his words radiated sophistication and politeness, the undertone of mockery was too thick to remain unnoticed.

“Good evening, _Lord Njord_. If you shall excuse us, my and Sigyn’s presence is required to be _elsewhere_ ” without waiting for the ex-Leader’s consent they turned around and left for the section of one of the many tables, which they had claimed as theirs.

Having not expected such an occurrence the God of Seas just stood in place for a few minutes quietly seething. He had not foreseen the possibility of the royal brat’s interference, for he had so carefully chosen the moment when he was not lingering at Sigyn’s side. That had been a difficult feat, seeing how the said little wanker was so keen on not letting his little ‘toy’ out of his sight, the Nobleman had underestimated the Princeling’s persistence. His careful cornering of Freya’s child had gone to waste, he had gained nothing from it – only spoiled his own mood. Being aware that there was nothing else that he could do (without making a spectacle of himself) he angrily spun on his heel and headed back to his seat.

Sigyn was already seated and instantly took part in the ongoing debate between Thor and the Warriors Tree, when the Lie God turned back to cast a glance at the back of the retreating Lord. He smirked to himself, knowing that he had thwarted the old man’s plans. He knew that the sea would be perilous tonight, it was good that the fishermen had already reeled in their catches of autumn and would not be venturing into the winter waters (not that Loki cared much for the fate of the ones lost at sea).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little Julaften – is how I had decided to call “Little Christmas” (for obvious reasons). In some of the countries that celebrate Jul, Little Christmas (or Little Christmas Eve) is the name for the 23rd of December. I haven’t really gathered much information on it, just that it is often the day when people put up their Christmas trees (my family usually puts ours then as well – and not before because it’s a lot of work when the Christmas tree is an actual, large spruce and you want it to last as long as possible; we usually decorate it on Christmas Eve). I just thought that since I am mentioning Jul, then I should try to mention as much (as my scarce knowledge allows) about it as I can.
> 
> Pre-Julaften – is, as I have mentioned, how Advent is called in this fic.
> 
> The names of weekdays – you probably have noticed that instead of saying Sunday I had called it the ‘seventh day of the week’, it was done specifically so. A lot of our Midgardian days are named after Norse gods (Thursday – Thor’s day; Friday – Frigga’s day...) and I thought that that shouldn’t be so in Asgard. I mean, yes we all know how important Thor is, but at least at this point having a day named after him would be too much, since he’s young and not yet as important as he had been at the timeline of the movies (and really, yeah Thor’s a big deal, but Odin would be an arse to rename a day of the week, completely disregarding any naming it had prior – I mean surely, he wouldn’t cast away older traditions without reason, just to exalt his wonder-boy).   
> So, the days of the week in this fic will are called numerally (Monday – the first day of the week; Tuesday – the second day of the week; Wednesday – the third day of the week, and so on). And yes, I am aware that in some countries the first day of the week is considered to be Sunday, it is not so here in this piece of fiction though.
> 
> Advent – unlike in all those kiddy (chocolate, treat and similar) advent calendars, it doesn’t actually start on the first of December. Advent begins on the fourth Sunday before Christmas. And this line from the chapter: “Little Julaften had fallen out on the last seventh day of the fourth week of pre-Julaften” – means that Little Christmas (December 23rd) had fallen out on the last Sunday of Advent.
> 
> Advent traditions – most of you probably know what an Advent wreath is, I shall explain it if there are some who do not. An Advent wreath (can also be called an Advent calendar) is usually fashioned out of spruce branches (and is usually decorated), on it (or within the circle it forms) four candles are placed. The first one is lit on a Sunday, four weeks before Christmas, that candle is lit every evening. On the second Sunday (three weeks before Christmas) the second candle is lit – and so on, until on the last, fourth Sunday all four candles are burning.
> 
> Now the whole placing candles in front of windows thing, having some kind of relation with Advent (or Christmas) – it is possible. I seem to recall a story/legend/myth about something like that, although I honestly do not recall what that had been about. So, I cannot say whether it has anything to do with Advent, but I thought that it was a nice idea to incorporate in the fic.


	31. Celebration. Part I

**Chapter thirty-one**

**_Celebration._ ** **Part I**

 

 

The celebration of Little Julaften had passed with good spirits for both of the Godlings, even the confrontation with Njord (as though a contest won by the Goddess of Victory of course) had not managed to change that. Alas for Sigyn the triumph had been made bitter by her short reunion with Syn.

Neither of the younglings knew how to describe the unsaid feelings the Vanir female had felt – it was not anger nor sadness... The reason behind it was not the trap that the lady-child had known and been part of, it was her baby-sister’s walking away without glancing back that had hurt her so. Loki had tried to console his beloved over the ‘betrayal’ of her sister – but nothing he had done was enough to calm her. He had not been able to smooth the crease that had marred his lover’s brow, which had only disappeared (to his sight at least) when the lights in his bedchamber were doused. The young man’s tactics had not involved any words, with which he was so good, there also had not been any sensual attempts either (which hadn’t been part of their plans for the night and required a certain mood that just hadn’t been there). So he had only curled behind the girl and held her in a soothing embrace, under the plentitude of fluffy blankets.

When they had wakened the morning had been left more than a few hours behind. The Princess hadn’t said and the Prince hadn’t asked whether she had had restful and pleasant dreams – that was irrelevant, seeing as she’d been feeling very good and had smiled at him sleepily while clad in her underwear and one of his lighter tunics (and that interpretation of sleepwear had been a very, very lovely sight for him).

It was much to their gain that there hadn’t been and wouldn’t be any meals shared that day between them and his family, this was so because it had turned out to be an exceedingly busy time for the ruling Monarchs (and the Queen was somewhat content with the meeting she had had with her son’s ‘wife’, therefore she had not pressed the schedule to include said gatherings over food).

The tradition in Asgard was that specifically for dinner on the eve of Julaften the very closest of relatives would attend, it was a private celebration. But for the royalty of Realm Eternal that dinner was always spent in a grand feast where nobility and other people of honor would be present (that was the reason why, when the pressure of planning allowed it, Odin and Frigga with their two descendants would gather for breakfast and lunch on that day).

* * *

 

The custom was that families would gather over dinner only after the Northern Star would light the sky, there was no specific time set for such therefore the gathering could occur well into the evening. Seeing as it was the Winter Solstice (the night from the eve of Julaften to Julaften’s day) – the night was the longest of the year, so the star rose early and would stay in the sky for the longest of hours. The feast would begin late in the evening (not at all unusual), that meant that there was no reason to rush.

The God of Mischief had left a new dress for his love atop his bed and had not remained in his quarters because he wasn’t sure of her reaction towards it. The gown was truly risqué, but it would be considered more than that by the court, it was so revealing that he had not seen a woman bold enough to wear anything that could rival it. He was well aware of the Lady’s touchiness concerning nudity, however she also loved eccentric and open clothing. However he was not certain whether the piece of clothing he had commission would not cross the line (and cross the Goddess’s anger).

The young God had returned to his chambers a few hours later. From the crack of the door that led to his bedchamber he could hear the rustle of fabric and clinking glass containers (contents of which were face-paints and such) – that alerted him that she was still preparing.

He sat down on one of his couches and discarded the idea of a book the moment it had entered his mind – he knew that he would not be able to concentrate on reading. He was already dressed in his best – the garb was tailored for this very day. A mix of green, black and golden painted leather – his color dominated the clothing. Everything about it was elaborately detailed, from the black breeches, long green and unfastened overcoat, to the vests and tunic that peaked through. All accentuated by golden embroidery and metal accessories of the same hue (and despite the girl-woman’s disliking of gold, she had once remarked that it suited him and that she liked the color on him – a fact he was glad for).

The male’s legs were crossed and the foot of the one on top was twitching nervously for the last fifteen minutes. Finally the door opened, revealing a sight to die for. His bewitching woman stepped forth and smirking devilishly asked him a question that had an obvious answer.

“So, how do I look?”

The silver-tongued one was momentarily left speechless. He recovered his metaphorically swallowed tongue soon enough, although his eye were still glued and investigating her magnificence. His reply was just one word, but a powerful one indeed.

“Perfect”

She looked smug once she’d heard that.

He did not find it strange how she so often left him breathless – as tough he had seen her for the very first time. It was difficult to cease staring and so he did not even try. Her hair was a burgundy cherry red (and fleetingly he hoped that no one would notice the change), it was fashioned into an intricate chignon with a wayward strand framing the right side of her divine face. Her blue eyes (less of the stormy sea tint but rather of a deep sea blue) were wonderfully accentuated on their almond shape, with the use of black and gray paint. Her lips were glistening in a pale hue – which was perfect because she was already bright enough. In her ears dangled the earrings he had ordered to be made – they were simple and so did not clash with the rest of her visage. The pieces of jewelry were just long (long enough to barely touch her shoulders) strands of delicately forged silver, which was specifically blackened to match the rest of her garb.

His shinning orbs travelled down her form further. Her long neck was covered in a collier that was part of her dress. As everything it was intricate, made from many lines of black, glinting precious stones. The bejeweled strings grew scarcer as they moved downwards to connect to the upper piece of the gown. In places the strands were circular as tough necklaces, some were dangling – others were firmly sewn onto the ghostly fabric. The dress was sleeveless, not quite covering her biceps. The fabric of the whole upper body was sheer black lace, a simple, pattern-less netting that allowed plenty of sight of that marvelous pale skin. The only parts of his lovely Sigga that were more covered were the very centers of her bare breasts, where the gems formed more closely beaded patterns. All over her front were tiny patterns and looser dangling strands of various sized black brilliants, however they did almost nothing to cover her up – leaving oh so much flesh showing (the God of Deceit loved how her small mounds were just slightly, slightly obscured).

There were hundreds of those masterfully cut stones on her – they were all black diamonds. This was, without a doubt, the most expensive evening gown Asgard had ever seen (and wasn’t it just perfect that it was Sigyn who wore it?). Such a purchase was wild, but it hadn’t even put a dent in the Heir’s accounts (he had quite the fortune, both as savings from his princely allowance as well as riches acquired by more shadowy means). The cost would make any nobleman balk (no matter how wealthy they were) and their wives would turn green from envy of the new Princess.

The skirts of the gown were also black, but ventured more into the realm of dark grey – it reflected the light nicely. The bottom half flared strongly, held up by a flexible and fishbone-thin crinoline. It had two inconspicuous slits on both sides, which would only be visible if the female moved a lot or if when she sat she’d adjust them.

As she approached one of the mirrors in the antechamber to look at herself again, her movement was exaggeratedly swaying and luring (although not for the reason of beckoning her lover to her). Her waving steps revealed one of the slits in her skirts, allowing him sight of the footwear she wore (he had not commissioned any for her). Her lithe feet were covered in boots of black glinting leather that went well past her knees. They had platforms and thick heels. The shoes made her significantly taller (although nowhere near his height), well that was what six inch tall platforms did. The boots she wore were not an outlandish fashion statement, although she was fully capable of choosing her garb just because of that, but for the reason of keeping warm when they would go outside (however her dress that appeared so incompatible with the weather also had tricks).

The girl stopped walking and the boy-prince watched her reflection in the mirror. He lasted thirty seconds in silence, being mesmerized by her and her vain gazing, before he spoke again.

“I was not sure whether you would like it...”

Without shifting her gaze from her form she replied.

“If it were just beads of black diamonds and see-through lace I would’ve given it quite a lot of thought as well as tested it”

He interjected, mirth evident in his tone.

“You may not have grown up in a forge, but you truly have Dverger blood coursing through your veins”

She chuckled and spared a glance his way through the mirror.

“Thank you for validating my heritage, it had been under heavy speculation for the longest of times” unnecessarily adjusting her chocker she resumed speaking “I do know my precious stones tough”

“That you do, and you are welcome” the Lie God uttered charmingly.

“Where was I? Oh yes. But since the seamstress did such a wonderful job and the gown is laced with magic – I had no doubts that I’d wear it”

He nodded absentmindedly – it was true, on all accounts. The craftsmanship was wonderful (he was glad that he’d found someone capable of working with what materials he’d brought as well as with the necessary abilities to turn his ideas and sketches into reality). The God of Magic had also used spells on the dress – so that it would stick to the wearer and not slip accidentally (and reveal a rosy peak), also that her breasts would be offered sufficient support and would not jiggle due to them being unbound. There were also fire runes enchanted onto the piece of clothing – so that the low temperature would not bother his beloved.

“Then I shan’t ask you whether you like it”

“You shouldn’t, there’s no reason to ask the obvious” she replied.

The Goddess of ‘fidelity’ continued gingerly touching the glinting diamonds on her dress, she did not do so in quiet for long.

“I hadn’t thought that you’d ever bring me something like this to wear”

“Oh? How so?” the Sorcerer asked, genuinely confused by her words.

“I hadn’t thought that you’d allow me to wear something like this. I wouldn’t have guessed that your jealousy would allow it”

“Allow?” he echoed, disbelieving. He was frighteningly shocked by that.

The Godling rose from his seat and approached her, snaking his hands around her waist. She tilted her head and was met with his startled green orbs.

“I would never disallow you anything – I _cannot_. It is not my right to tell you how you can or cannot dress. You do know that... right?” he asked worriedly.

She snorted and smirked, then turned away to look back into the reflective surface.

“That is irrelevant. I don’t care what you allow and don’t allow me because I wouldn’t listen to you. I do what I want” she said with cool defiance.

The God of Lies smirked, he was relieved.

“Now then, I do think that you are ready. Shall we depart for the feast, lover?”

“Yes, let’s go” she answered.

The God of Trickery delicately took Sigyn’s chin between his fingers, maneuvering her for a meeting of their lips. The kiss was gentle and after it they left his green-tinted abode.

* * *

 

The two Godlings had arrived a moment short of the official beginning of the celebration. Not long after the Allfather’s speech the tame mood had become jolly and loud (compared to the other feasts). The Great Hall was decorated to the max (because of the Queen), the long tables were near metaphorical breaking from the best Asgard could offer, and various alcohol containing beverages were spilling as if from a horn of plenty. Soon the seated guests began moving about – from one table to another, in order to converse with people seated further as well as for the reason of dancing.

The wife of the God of Mischief had quickly become the eye-catcher of many. Her overly revealing garb was just one of the reasons why so many eyes were lingering on her. Both she and her lover were very much aware of the fact, but neither was experiencing negative feelings about it, both were reveling in pure vanity. Old, young, married and single noblemen were openly staring at her with lustful gazes. The noblewomen however had a much broader palette of reactions concerning the young Vanir Goddess. Some of them were obviously scorning and slandering her, pointing fingers or shaking their heads, others were simmering with jealousy at her audacity and the extremely expensive gown of diamonds that she wore because their husbands or lovers either did not wish to sped such riches for something like that or could not afford such luxury – it was an obvious statement of what wealth and privilege being a Prince’s wife held.

Loki saw how much the males wanted to approach the Lady (they had wished to do such prior, but with the nature of the previous celebrations – flirting had been severely toned down) and try their luck. Although those suitors were very aware of the ‘owner’ of that bewitchingly beautiful woman, who circled her like a hawk without reprieve. Few were intimidated by the Master of Magic generally, but plenty were wary and the rest were angry with his presence so carefully shadowing his mistress. Despite the fact that there was no band on the second-born Heir’s finger (the marking that marred the digit was hidden by spell), a shining silver ring did circle hers.

The man acting like a vulture was only one of the reasons why no one wishing to ‘acquaint’ themselves with her stayed put, they did not wish to cause a scene by colliding with the female’s husband. That was not born out of respect for marriage, since it was not something that was part of Realm Eternal’s court (if there was any respect, then it was more for both or one of the married people – not for the actual union). One of the other reasons why none had dared approach the Princess was her ruling sphere as a Goddess (officially announced by the King about a month after the ‘prank’ wedding). Some were convinced that a Goddess of Fidelity and Bonds would be eternally faithful to her husband – therefore they could not get anything from her (although that did not mean that they stopped ogling at her). Others believed that Odin’s law should be tested or that loyalty could be _flexible_. And maybe some with having seen a near nude maiden (that none of the Ladies could rival in beauty) simply forgot about all that. The youngest of admirers however had completely disheartened expressions on their physiognomies (and the Trickster God imagined them to be holding wilted roses in their hands) – some because the regal creature was utterly out of their league (and no poetry they could write or riches they could offer would sway her), others because of the Prince who had his arm slung around her waist.

The Trickster was gleeful because of the attention his love garnered and the hatred sent his way. There was so much jealousy of him, of her, of them – the envy-green God loved it. He had a permanent expression of malicious delight on his sharp, royal features and he looked down on all who dared to come close with any intentions towards his girl. If any suitors stepped twenty paces in their direction he shot them warning glares and his unsaid threats were potent.

No matter their generally cold attitude towards one another, it was not against the image of him to show his possession of her. He was decidedly possessive (in a proper manner, without it having to do anything that would be inappropriate to a royal or a man) and was sure that all would know it.

Oh, he could see in the men that looked, he could perceive with ease their intentions and their desires towards Sigyn. Most of them wanted to tear off her dress of lace and beads, rip off her skirts and get between her legs, to shove their cocks into her. The Heir did not concentrate into such vile and perverse images – which caused only rage to burn inside him, he rather took to enjoying the fact that no matter how much those men wanted to take his beloved – they would never be able to do so. She was _his_ and _his alone_. He was the only one who’d been between her legs and would be the only one to be there – the Lie God was keen on showing that to every male present (in, of course, the most subliminal of ways).

The couple constantly left their seats in lieu of dancing. They allowed the visage of enjoyment to seep through, however they remained cold to one another, as if this part of the feast was merely their obligation. The façade of indifference was easy to upkeep because the slow music and strict movements of the dances were not to the Vanir’s liking (and the Asgardian royal was not very keen on them either).

Whenever they returned to their table her regal, unapproachable attitude would be discarded. She changed back to her conversational, outgoing self. If it had not been solid fact prior, then now it was definitely that – the God of Thunder liked the new addition to his family very much. Without even meeting his sibling’s lover he had instantly taken her to be his little sister and that had not changed, perhaps only strengthened. To Thor she was just that and he paid her no attention as the kind paid to a woman. Her garb had remained unnoticed and maybe that was so because the Storm God was used to oddities due to his brother – the Trickster.

Volstagg was quite the same in that sentiment, Hogun did not seem to mind the wife of the infamous prankster, but he did not show any explicit liking of her (not that he showed any of his emotions explicitly). Fandral though was a different case entirely, he had instantly noticed the female and showed her even more attention than usual. He was very flirtatious, but the receiver of his flirt took it more like a jest than a serious offer of some questionable sort (not that the saber-wielding male was offended by that, to him this was not an indicator of a lost battle).

Lady Sif’s reaction to whom she deemed to be the younger Heir’s consort – had not changed for the better. It was clear that now inwardly (mostly because of the gown) she thought the Goddess of ‘fidelity’ to be Loki’s _whore_. The dress was clearly one of the reasons why the warrior woman disliked her so – it was too audacious, too ridiculous, too revealing (that of a true harlot) and she had dared to leave her husband’s bedchamber dressed in _that_!

However this obvious loathing only stroked the Princess’s ego and she was smirking whenever the other female glared daggers at her. The victory bringer was acting as though there was a competition between her and Sif, which was without a doubt dominated by the one who reigned over luck and fortune. As usual the warrioress was clad in robes meant for celebration, her garb was just slightly more revealing than at the previous feasts. However the miniscule hint of cleavage and a more form-fitting outfit paled by a billion shades compared to that ebony perfection – much to both of the wedded one’s fiendish delight.

The other reason of dislike (most possibly the very root of this negativity, of Sif’s anger) was because the elder Prince was paying so much attention, talking so jovially with the half-blood – and showing so much interest in the girl. While the female fighter simmered (and had even developed a tick of angrily flicking her dark hair – as though it were a nuisance, an annoying bug), the mischievous man would glow (that is, he would glow if he had luminescent proprieties, which he obviously did not have) – for the predicament entertained him so.                        

The younger God had allowed (not that he really had much of a say in that) for the Golden boy to share a few dances with the Lady dressed as the night itself. He didn’t mind it at all and he had not thought that anyone else would dare to request a dance from her (with him so carefully shadowing her and everything), however he was wrong. Fandral took to making such a request, which she had accepted.

He had not thought that that would faze him, but it did. The blond warrior stood far too close to the Vanir and the dance lasted in his mind far longer than it actually did. Every few minutes sparks of green and red flickered in front of his eyes, the electric fey colors intensifying every time the Godling saw (but not heard) her laugh. And it was not the kind of mirth she had shared with Thor – which had been innocent and festive, these laughs were making the undeniable impression of her returning the man’s flirt. The God of Lies did not believe that Sigyn was thinking Fandral to be better than him or that she _wanted_ the male for detestable and perverse reasons (and they were that only in his psyche). No, the reason he was so vexed was that the cold weapons’ master dared to flirt and prance about _his_ woman.

Eternities later it seemed, the pair of dancers that he had observed so intently (while drumming his fingers sinisterly onto the table) separated. The ‘gallant’ one walked away with a content expression on his physiognomy (obviously not too deterred by the fact that he had only won a dance and nothing more) and quickly ‘swanned’ two seemingly random women. The females giggled and quickly left with him (scarps compared to the boundary-denying Goddess, but she in her entirety was the ‘property’ of the God of Mischief).

She returned to his side and sat by the table with a dazzling yet oblivious smile. She grabbed a chalice she had filled with a refreshing, non-spirited beverage and took a big gulp out of it while he asked her a strongly-tempered question, trying not to reveal his emotions.

“Had you enjoyed yourself?”

“Mmmm?” she hummed in genuine confusion, but soon came to understand his question, although her understanding of it was just partially right “Oh, of course I’m enjoying myself. The celebration is wonderful!”

Her tone was drown out by the surrounding ruckus, so only he had heard her answer. No one was secretly or obviously listening to them, neither was anyone watching – whether due to his ominous presence beside her or because nearly all of the feast-goes were inebriated – he did not care.

Her love was not verbally offering anything else so mildly puzzled she turned her head to look at him, perhaps his reply had been too silent for her to catch. Alas that was not the case, his posture told her a whole different story than what she thought it to be. The boy-prince was trying too hard to appear as though everything was alright.

“Mischief, are you jealous?”

The rising of his eyebrow inspired a bout of laughter from her.

“Y-you cannot be serious!” she said while quietly giggling.

“I see nothing funny about this” his phrasing and tone were far too serious.

“You really are jealous! T’is too good”

She took her glass (a different one) that was filled with spiced wine and watched him from the corner of her eyes as she took a delicate sip. His usual expression of serene confidence with mischief lingering beyond it was still distorted. It was obvious that her taunt had not managed to bring some fresh air since his mind was still occupied and blinded by envy.

“As entertaining as this is, get your rationality out of your arse”

“Oh, I am rational” the God of Trickery said as he leaned closer to her, his hand found the slit of her gown and caressed her bare thigh.

“I want you” he whispered into her ear.

“What’s new under the sun?” she asked him sarcastically, ignoring the digits that were tracing her skin.

Her words did not deter him and so his hand tried to quest further on her crossed legs.

The girl-woman hissed, her tone violent but quiet.

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Why, I am only having what is mine” he answered and remained hovering beside her.

The Dark Prince was trying to move his hand further still, however the position her legs were in, as well as the force with which they were clenched – disallowed his advances. The beverage in the crystalline goblet that she had in her grasp slushed as she kept attempting to get him to stop.

“Piss off, Loki!” her teeth were bared as she venomously whisper-hissed back at him.

“No, I have better things in mind”

“Then clear that damn mind, you pretentious bastard!”

He ignored her and continued talking in low volume so that only she could hear (not that anyone was paying any attention).

“Now, now, stop fighting and allow me to have you, love” the God of Deceit was not aroused and what he voiced that he wanted was not to be had here and now (although his psyche was partially clouded), however she did not need to know that.

“So you want to _fuck_ me in some closet or should we go into your chambers and I should allow you to _take_ me there?” the female’s words were pure poison.

The young man chuckled darkly in her ear.

“Oh no, I want you _here_ \--” as he said that his hand had finally wrestled its way between her thighs, cupping her panty-covered core. He felt her whole body freeze and her free hand latched itself onto his wrist, long nails pressing with the intent to hurt (although he barely felt a thing due to the heavy leather coat he wore) “--To have you squirming as my fingers prod and fuck you” the Trickster God finished sinisterly.

She did not move (and did not show just how much his threat fazed her), the silently spoken words retained their power.

“To have me _moaning_ here for everyone to see! Just you try! I never thought that in my life I’d have to say this, but if you shove you fingers into me, you’ll be sleeping on the sofas in the antechamber!”

“You will kick me out of my bedchamber?” he asked, but was not really asking, voice playful and mocking.

“I don’t give a fuck if they’re your chambers or not! If you dare do this to me, the next time you’ll get between my legs will be in the next century!”

Loki did not respond to that, his spidery appendages however made no move to neither delve into her or retreat, the expression of smugness remained on his face.

“But...” the girl began with much more calm and he pulled away to look into her. With his interest piqued she managed to softly pry his hand off of her form, although she still held it in a mild grip – in case he’d try and make good on his ‘promises’. “But if you don’t--” she purred, drawing closer to him with every word, until she was whispering seductively into his ear “--then this very evening you’ll have your fingers and your body between my legs”

When she leaned back he could see that all of her attention was focused intro shrugging off his transgression and immersing herself back into the celebratory mood. The young woman’s words had snuffed all of his envy.

He had not planned on taking her there on the table (although the thought of having his lover with her back on one was very attractive, however the idea would have to be made into reality in privacy), neither had he been thinking of pulling her away from the feast nor humiliating her then and there with pleasuring her with his fingers – he was not that kind of a man. The very vision of doing such was repulsive, but he was twisted and that was the reason why he had trick-played with her like that. The threat had been impulsive and he was not regretting it.

Alas the God of Mischief knew that it was highly unlikely that they would leave the celebration early – so that lovely, fiery promise was not going to be made real soon. Still thus did not upset him, (prior Fandral’s dance with Sigyn) he had been enjoying himself. And with the overpowering negative emotions ebbing away from his persona, he was aware that he would be able to return to that quite joyous state.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dinning only after the Northern/Western/Brightest star (different stars/star names because the tradition differs) rises on Christmas Eve – is an actual tradition. But basically since that means after the star rises, after evening falls – allows you to pick any time after dark (and in the northern hemisphere – that happens pretty early in winter), and you don’t really eat dinner early – so there’s no actual hour set for that tradition. However I cannot say where this custom originates from, where it is most prevalent or what versions of it are there.


	32. Celebration. Part II

**Chapter thirty-two**

****_Celebration._** Part II**

 

 

Hours later the couple moved to the celebration that took place outside. It was some ways from the Golden Palace (a walking distance though), still it was within the grounds of Asgard’s heart. There were little decorations and most of the beauty was provided by the starlit nature that surrounded the square – bare trees and shrubbery with their leaves and blossoms having shimmered away, and slightly frosted grass.

Most of the nobility remained in the Great Hall, but the crowds were mixed – not consisting just of the Aesir with royal blood and status. Many were clad in warmer clothing, except for the braver ones – who depended on constant movement and the illusion that graded beverages created to keep warm.

The dancing and music was livelier than it was indoors. There were also quite a few huge bonfires roaring in flames throughout the area, serving as both means of heat and light. Their presence made the Lady peculiarly giddy. When he had asked his beloved why the fires were so much to her liking, she had replied that they were a tradition in feasts (which often took place outdoors) in Vanaheim.

Initially the male of noble heritage had found no parallels between the reasons behind these bonfires to those of her heim-land. Though when he pondered more about it he summarized that a connection was possible – Realm Eternal was very true to its traditions, however there was the fact that there were also people of other ethnicities (a small minority of Vanir and those of mixed Aesir blood). So back at those warring times – it was plausible that some customs were adopted or changed in order to accommodate refugees and such. Of course the changes were minor, but that did not mean that such slight declinations of the norm did not somehow (even unconsciously) appease them. Such a theory would explain why there were even such feastings held outside (because it was still more common to celebrate inside, even in the warm seasons); why the music differed from the norm (being much faster and well, just different) and why the dancers danced so fast, and why the formations of them weren’t so strict. The God of Lies had to internally agree with her – he too preferred this part of the celebration more than the first, which had taken place within the fortress.

The two had long since separated with Thor’s little band and did not care for where they all had scattered to (but he had made sure that Sif had not and would not ‘magically’ appear in his brother’s bed). They spent the time enjoying themselves and separated only briefly when the girl-woman had left to get them some drinks.

There were several tables placed outside, they housed a myriad of spirited beverages and snacks. They were prepared in such a way that the food would be kept under room conditions and that the liquids would not freeze, should the temperatures drop any lower. The Vanir Goddess poured two chalices with different drinks. For herself she took some strong wild berry melomel and for him she actually had to mix two beverages into one. He had asked her to bring him aquavit with a third of syrupy mint liqueur. She did not know whether he had tried such a ‘brew’ before, but it still seemed to her to be an experiment for his taste buds.

Once she had her hands occupied with two crystalline goblets (both mean-sized, however hers was deceptively delicate), she felt several presences saunter her way. And she was well aware that those ‘presences’ were not quite interested in the liquids placed atop the table as much as they were interested in her. The female turned around and glanced about to see two women approaching her from both sides. They were typical Aesir: tall, curvaceous, with up-done hair and expensive but boring gowns, limited make-up and a lot of _gold_ jewelry. The two were very similar in stature, but not identical or very alike in their appearance and garb – one was a wheat-blond, the other of auburn hair. The aforementioned wore a golden dress with a fur pelt from variously colored and different animals, the latter – a sapphire one with a white fur coat.

Both ‘barley yellow’ and ‘moldy orange’ feigned shock when they saw her. ‘Moldy orange’ quickly crossed to join the side of the ‘barley yellow’. They curtsied in the most pathetic and mocking way they possibly could as they chorused a greeting.

“Princess”

The said girl who had married into royalty just nodded her head and was contemplating whether she should just leave with that. The duo of Asgardians posed her no threat, verbally that is (for there was no way that they could physically assault someone of her station – this was Asgard; and anyway the Goddess of ‘fidelity’ could have taken them on with ease) for she had quite the acerbic tongue herself. Still, she did not wish to cause a huge scandal (her lover wouldn’t mind she was sure, but she did not wish to trouble him or get him _in_ trouble). Alas, she just thought – fuck it, if it’ll be necessary she’ll trash the bints with words.

Sigyn tuned them out as they introduced themselves (which didn’t bother her seeing as they weren’t trying to intrude her personal space). Therefore the noblewomen’s names, who their husbands (or in the case of the blond – fiancé) were and from which house they were – was information that she allowed to pass through her ears without claiming permanent residence in her brain.

When she finally decided that she would leave without a word (screw that, she was not in the mood for lingering here any longer), a third female joined the ‘party’. She approached from the direction ‘moldy orange’ had. This one though was different (she was pretty sure that these court-women actually knew each other and possibly even devised such a plot to corner the new addition to the royal family), quite different. She was much older than the other two (although all of them looked middle-aged and were desperately trying to hide that), she was also shorter (however still taller than the high Lady herself), her forms were much, much rounder (she was not fat-fat, but she was over the boundary of ‘plump’ – she was fat-ish). Her hair was also upraised in a similar fashion, she was a dark (borderline brunette) blond and her hair had several graying strands as far as the girl could tell in the scarce lighting. She wore a violet gown, her round waist was obviously force-stuffed into a corset underneath, and the cut over her breasts (which were so massive that they shamed any comparison of watermelons, pumpkins of any other vegetable ‘whatevers’) was so intense that those mounds ( _mountains_ ) were nearly spilling out. Over the dress she wore a pelt-shawl made out of several foxes, the head of one even rested over her left shoulder. She had even more _gold_ and pearl jewelry on her (bracelets, necklaces, rings and earrings – all that) than the other women did. But despite the older female’s weight she walked with quite the practiced grace (well, as much as the grass beneath her moderately high heels allowed). Just like the two she had a glass in her hand, but in her other she held defrosted raspberries and blackberries.

The new one also introduced herself (curtsying less though – not that the Princess cared) and her introduction was also blatantly ignored (not that the trio of Asgardians appeared to care either whether the royal chit was paying attention).

“I speak for all of us when I say that it is a pleasure to meet you, _princess_ ” said the younger blond.

“We have waited for so long to make your acquaintance” the redhead added.

The Vanir female replied with a simple ‘yes’, which was not the etiquette appropriate answer, but neither did it very obviously portray that there was no ‘pleasure’ in meeting them on her side.

“That is a lovely gown that you are wearing, _princess_ ” commented ‘moldy orange’ (there was no genuine appreciation in her tone though).

“It was a gift from my husband” she replied.

Her cold eyes were turned on ‘berry barrel’ who stood on the opposite side of the other women. She saw the Lady push forth her spilling bosom, although try as she might – she would not outshine the boundary-denying Goddess. The mixture of jealousy and scorn was visible on the round one’s features. It was clear that the elder noblewoman did not possess the boldness necessary to wear such a thing and the foreign girl was sure that her husband (she judged her matrimonial status by the band around her forefinger of the hand that held the berries) would never purchase or commission something as expensive as the black dress that she wore. No matter how proud the chubby Aesir was of her gigantic knockers, Freya’s daughter’s slim figure and risqué garb would still be things to envy.

“Oh and what a lovely gift it is!” chirped ‘moldy orange’.

“It must be wondrous to be the wife of a Prince!” remarked ‘barley yellow’. She had a wistful look on her face for a second and then joined for a fit of annoying giggles with her redheaded companion.

“Thus is something to be shared in _detail_ ” ‘berry barrel’ noted, while popping a raspberry into her mouth. She smiled a strange, knowing smile the youngest, highest in status, Lady’s way. Her words inspired another bout of chronic giggles from the two younger females and then they chorused a dead-beat of ‘yes, yes!’, and tittered some more.

The over-ripened one noticed Sigyn’s lack of interest in idling here, so she addressed her concerns.

“Do not worry, dear. I am sure that your husband is quite preoccupied at the moment, he shan’t miss his drink”

She refused the urge to snort. There was no way to exactly tell what the Asgardian Goddess had in her mind when she said that, but that did not change the fact that she was wrong. The God of Deceit was not looking for a good fuck while she was fetching them something to quench their thirst (and why would he be, when he had the very best?) and he had already exhausted his niceties with people he did not very much like, so he definitely was not looking for a conversation with a random person.

“Come with us, _princess_ ” ‘barley yellow’ suggested. “Let the men do their boring talks--” the girl-woman was not sure whether by ‘talks’ the blond did not mean fucking “--We have our own, so much more interesting topics to discuss”

“I must refuse the offer, Loki is waiting for me” she could not utter the word ‘husband’ again, so she simply referred to her lover by name (although she should have at least said ‘my husband’, most appropriate would have been ‘my lord husband’ – but for that her tongue could not flip). And besides, it was clear by the way the court-women did not use her name (they either did not know it or did not care to bother with calling her ‘Lady Sigyn’) as well as said ‘princess’ with blatant mocking – that they weren’t worth stressing her limits of proper behavior (she had far too little of that anyway).

With that she began to walk away.

“Such a shame” whispered the auburn-haired one, obviously upset because she would not be getting any juicy gossip material to spread about.

“Do join us later, _princess_!” called ‘barley yellow’.

“We are frequently in the palace. Join as for a little girl-meeting, _your highness_ ” added ‘berry barrel’.

The Vanir turned around and responded.

“Will do” the venom of faux pleasantness was both in her tone and smile. She thought for a second whether she should leave with that, but decided that what the heck, she would take a piss out of them.

“Now however I must return to my waiting husband. Perhaps you should return to yours as well, if they aren’t occupied with ‘more important’ matters” the jab was subtle and she did not stand there long enough to see whether it had not gone over their heads.

The Vanir woman was still in earshot distance, she walked away slowly, and the three females would not have so carelessly uttered the things that they did if they had not been quite as inebriated. She caught fractured bits of their conversation.

“I know-- Dressed like a harlot”

“The Prince must like her walking nearly naked”

“Well, that gown does not do much for her little breasts. I guess that is all she could do anyway – walk nude, because they are so _small_ ”

“--But did you see? Those were diamonds! How audacious can you get?”

“Dear, she’s the Prince’s little toy. It is pretty obvious-- the luxury-- do you not think so?”

A group of running kids (out at such a late hour, but it was Julaften, so that wasn’t all that surprising) drowned out a portion of the women’s gossip.

“Think he is good in bed?”

“Oh, there are all kinds of things told about him!”

“--Heard the second Prince is into some obscure stuff in the bedroom!”

“It is pretty vague though, you just cannot tell what is true--”

“But I had heard from a reliable source that--”

The Princess had even stopped to listen to them, loitering about – far from the visuals of the females and not looking at all like she was listening-in to someone’s conversation. She was feeling more furious by the minute, although their retarded slander was flickering and she heard only parts of it, but it was still enough to make her angry. The Lady sipped her mead absentmindedly, while training her ear onto the conversation of the court trio.

“Do you think he is... well endowed?”

“No--”

“He is scrawny, but that does not mean that his manhood is small”

“Maybe-- Still he’s not Prince Thor, and he is not called the ‘Golden Prince’ for nothing’

“Oh, I would love to have that strong body! I swear-- said that the God of Thunder had taken her so hard that she barely knew left from right that morning!-- Alas! I am about to marry and I cannot think of such--”

More giggles and the wind whistled (carrying music, laughter or just general ruckus of the feast) too loudly at random intervals.

“--How does he take her? Do you reckon--”

“--Not boring, but probably perverse--”

“--Like-- with magic or something, I do not know! I am not perverted, how should I know?!”

“--Ladies, ladies--”

“--There is nothing to be jealous of--”

“I am not jealous!”

“As I was saying, his penis probably does not even reach that far-- What pleasure could that bring?--”

“Oh how would you know?”

“--Well it would be a thing of pride for a whore – to be the wife of a noble, and what to when it is a Prince!”

“--Not deserving--”

“What are you talking about? Do not say such things! She is the Goddess of Fidelity!”

“But she is the daughter of the Love Goddess--”

“--That only makes her faithful, does not mean that she is not dying to bed other men-- I do not believe--”

“--A daughter of Freya to be-- that is ridiculous!”

“--No way in the Nine is she content with just her husband’s cock-- even so-- I bet even if he is good, it is not enough for her”

“--Quite the--”

“Indeed--”

“Still need to-- and talk to her-- this is all just speculation--”

“--Think he hasn’t grown bored of her yet?-- She said-- he-- waiting for her--”

“Who knows?--”

“--Maybe--”

“--She is really good, perhaps?”

“So you think he is still--”

“Interested? Possible”

“If he-- was waiting and we made her late-- what do you think his reaction will be?--”

“--Very-- Angry?”

“--Do not think he will bother to--”

“True, men are lazy”

“Rightfully so-- mine would--”

“Agreed, the Prince will probably just use her mouth”

“Think she--?”

“Oh yes, saw the way-- Definitely has an acidic tongue! And he definitely has good use for that tongue too! Just the type-- tongue to suck him--”

“--Deserves--”

“Yes-- Deep and ruthless-- will fuck her proud mouth with his cock”

“--She shan’t be able to be so high-- with a sore throat”

“--Get her off her high-horse it will--”

“--Swallows?”

“--A Prince, do you think she has a choice?”

“--Maybe he will finish onto her face--”

“--Fitting--”

“Do you not think you are being too cruel? We do not know her-- Might--”

“--Do not be such a spoil-sport, ‘Red’--”

That was the extent that the Vanir Goddess was able to withstand. Gathering herself into an icy calm she walked away, murmuring something under her nose (and none were the wiser to that). One did not mess with magicians, for they had their tricks, their ‘nasties’ to retaliate with.

A sinister grin overtook her delicate face as she heard shrieks behind her back. The noblewomen had found little ‘surprises’ in their drinks.

When she finally reached her love he asked her, without any trace of displeasure lacing his tone. He tilted his head slightly.

“What had taken you so long?”

“I had a little run-in with gossipers” she replied as she handed him his goblet.

Taking a sip (and there was no grimace on his beautiful features – signifying that the weird beverage was to his tastes) the young man questioned her further.

“I hope it was not very unpleasant, was it?”

“No” the female responded and an irresistible smile lit her with the light of a thousand suns “Did you hear the screams?”

“Sadly, no” the Trickster God answered genuinely.

“I will probably regret this, but what did they speak about?”

“My breasts, your penis and you finishing onto my face” the Princess said evenly.

The absolute expression of disgust was evident on his physiognomy.

“Yep, I regret it”

“Oh _please_ , you sound as though you hadn’t lived your whole life in Asgard’s palace, like you aren’t used to slander”

“I am used to myself being vilified, alas when it concerns you...” Loki trailed off.

“Enough” she ordered/announced. “Let’s go dancing”

The God of Mischief did not mind dancing. However he had never been an avid participant in dances. He could have enjoyed the dance itself, alas they always came with partners. And the Throne Heir had never found it enjoyable because of that fact. It was best when the person he danced with would be silent, but that did not mean that a certain connection between him and someone else had been present – the lack of which always made it tedious. Only with his beloved had that vital part been present and for that reason he did not need to be told twice.

The girl walked backwards slowly while keeping eye contact with him. She raised her hands above her head, still clutching the glass in one, as she began swaying to the fast rhythm that was well heard even from the distance. She moved her body from left to right, her movements snake-like. While her swaying was not the same as that of the Naiad dance – it was still plenty of inappropriate for Aesir eyes. A mask of mischievousness was placed upon her face as she smiled to him invitingly.

The male stepped after her quickly and used his physique, pressing himself close to her, to push her backwards closer to the circle of dancers. Quickly they were within the ‘dance floor’ both coiling one about the other in a very foreign dance. In counted seconds both were immersed in a euphoric state, thoroughly enjoying the beat that reigned over them.

Due to what had occurred earlier this evening, the young woman was well aware that the man was quite a skilled dancer. However now he was not moving with trained ease, but rather with perfect instincts. His natural fluidity of movement, the serpentine grace was far too sinful for Asgard – and the Goddess loved it all the more for that reason.

Soon his chalice was discarded somewhere in the grasses and long forgotten. Sometimes he would sway together with her while facing her, other times he would do so from behind her – and all the while he was pressed flush to her. Their hands and eyes wandered over each other’s forms, her bell-like giggles bursting to life from time to time. They moved so well that the two Godlings did not need to coordinate their movements, so in tune they were that no words were necessary for them to writhe about each other as though the dance had been rehearsed dozens of times.

Real Eternal did not need to know how much the royal couple meant for one another, still that did not mean that the understanding of their relationship should be that of unexplainable coldness and indifference. Both had agreed prior the beginning of the celebration on what their behavior should be – this did not go against that agreement. The God of Trickery had shown his possession of her publically (although, of course, subtly) – and acting like this did not go against that. Everyone was free to think that they were uncaring for each other on a daily basis (to such a point that they did not even bother to be together or even put of the pretense of living together while truly spending their time in separate chambers of the palace), but it was not a requirement that the gossip-loving Asgardians would believe that they slept in different bedrooms. With the talk that flied about them both – it would not be surprising to assume that they were burning to fuck one another. And so they did not shy away from having their bodies without a centimeter of space between them, from slowly twirling around each other in a fashion that most would describe as suggestive, nor did they stop themselves from kissing each other passionately, openly and wildly.

The two Gods completely disregarded the presence of others. They were enjoying themselves far too much to care and when they did notice any shocked or scorning onlookers then they only felt gleeful. And their dancing was noticed (by those who were not as happy as the duo or were not drunk enough to begin living in a world of their own intoxicated bliss) by noble and peasant alike. Of course no one dared to say a thing to the royal ones, and of course no one dared to heckle. Most of the reactions of those that gave it more than a minute’s attention were negative, although there were men that observed the dancing wife of the Dark Prince with jealousy and lewd appreciation.        

* * *

 

Hours passed filled with the best a feast could offer. They danced, they talked, they ate, they drank and of course marveled at the slightly frosted wintery vista. Sometimes Thor and his band would join them, else the two enamored Gods just spent the night on their own.

The God of Lies left his love to bring them something to drink. She remained in the throngs of swaying people, blissfully dancing on her own. Alas her solitary joy was not long lasted. The Lady felt someone near her before they were close enough to touch, and just a second later she realized that it was not a dancer who had gotten too carried away by the beat. Somebody brushed her arm none too gently and her eyes flashed with great annoyance.

“My, what a lovely maiden” a drunken voiced tried to coo to her, but it only came out as a slur.

After a roll of her stormy sea colored orbs she turned them languidly to look at the male that had dared to disturb her. It was a tall and broad man (a true Aesir), judging from his garb and musculature he was a warrior. She was about to reply with something snarky and witty, to get the Asgardian to back off and go for a possible ‘hunt’ elsewhere, leaving the unachievable _predator_ alone. However the female Vanir’s words were halted by the arriving of several more bothersome fellows.

She quickly scanned them and found them to be of different classes (two peasants, a middleclass lad and a nobleman that had a hard time standing on his own feet). It was a truly mixed bunch and she wouldn’t have believed, if she had not seen them together, that such people could stand so close to one another and seemingly not mind the difference in their status (for Realm Eternal was very conceited, and those who lived in that world did not like to associate with anyone lower than them in station). There was no need to ponder though, just why these men were together like that – a single objective had united them – and it was all the more diminishing when she was that goal.

One of the males (a young middleclass Aesir) addressed her.

“What is such a beautiful thing doing all alone, dancing by herself? ‘Tis far too pathetic for a lady such as you”

Sigyn’s irritation was showing, one of her eyebrows was twitching. The soldier that had walked to her first was trying to lean closer to her and so she stepped away, slinking further away from his grasp. Clearly they (or at least most of them) did not realize who they were trying to woo or perhaps they were too intoxicated to see that this was the Princess, it was also possible that they were unaware of the fact – seeing how when she’d been gifted her title she hadn’t even been present, so not all that many recognized her when the second-born Heir was not looming beside her.  

“I am not alone” she said with obvious contempt (which didn’t seem to have been registered) and she barely fought off the urge to tell to the bloke that she was not a thing. She raised her hand and moved her fingers in a taunting fashion, prideful as she displayed her ringed forefinger.

“An’ a-where is tha’ husband o’ yours, missy?" asked a booze-reeking (even from the distance) peasant.

“Yes, where is he?” echoed the one closest to her.

And all she was thinking about was the dagger strapped onto her thigh and how much she’d enjoy hacking these Asgardian imbeciles into pieces. And it’d be easy too – they were by far too drunk to see that coming (what’s more, when it is a woman who is attacking). The Sorceress was weighing in her mind possible things that she could do to them (since she really could not chop them up and she was certain that words were very unlikely to force them to change their not sober minds). She had no trouble sensing her energy tingling in her fingertips, close to coming out in sparks – there were all kinds of nasties she could do to them (and due to the tutoring of the God of Magic, her arsenal of trickery was vastly improved).

Her psyche was still deciding and the males were making their stumbling way towards her, when she felt a serpent wisp of power glide through the air. She grinned darkly before anything occurred and when it did – she let out an insane-sounding, evil little cackle. The Aesir all ran away howling in screams with their arses on fire, literally.

The girl-woman was aware of the cold smoke that swirled behind her. In a matter of a second her Sorcerer had slowly materialized behind her. His arms were wrapped about her waist and she leaned into his leather clad body. She did not see but was acutely aware of the maleficent smirk on his face, his mischievous eyes had to be shinning with malicious delight as well.

“I could not resist...” the Master of Magic whispered to her.

She looked at the dots of green flames and the frantic shouts that the wind carried her way. The woman giggled, her physique going through slight shocks due to her mirth.

“Good. My ideas weren’t that good. It’s a level of mastery I must learn”

“Then I shall do my best to teach you” the Trickster God replied.

She chuckled once more, her head turned so that she could observe him. The divine Lady caressed his cheek with the back of her hand. She could swear that she’d heard him purr at that.

“I must confess though that I had left our drinks behind. They have probably been repossessed by now”

“That’s alright. We’ll go to get some together” she assured him.

“A lesson learned then”

“That we should not separate?”

“Exactly” the boy-prince agreed.

“Then we shan’t. But don’t fret though, if we do” she said as she turned around to face him properly.

“I am not fretting” he said with a slight smirk.

“Liar” Sigyn accused as she tugged on his coat and rose on her tip-toes. He allowed himself to be pulled down and did not resist her hungry, fiery kiss. All tongue and teeth – and let the busybodies watch, let them see what they would _never_ have. He smiled into the furious yet languid kiss.

When the contact was broken she dragged the God by his wrist into the direction of the beverage table. All the while she was pointing out stars, by the time they had reached their destination they had witnessed the fall of two of those enormous burning giants.

* * *

 

As the light of dawn began touching the sky much of the celebrators had already left to find rest. The masses had significantly thinned and most of those that had remained consisted of severely drunken individuals (although, thankfully, almost all were of the happy-drunk kind).

The ebony and the ebony-green dressed Godlings had not joined the ones that were heading homewards. They stayed in their quite clear-headed joy as the ones with clouded eyes made their unsure ways back.

Their party was only over when dawn was there in all of its eerie grey gloom, when the east had slight streaks of the palest rose hue in its ripped clouds. By the time Loki and Sigyn had decided to find some sleep, there were practically no people left – because most of the ones still present had passed out there in the cold outdoors, just waiting to catch a cold. With the bonfires having died, leaving only harmless, slightly warm coal behind, the two lovers headed back to the Prince’s chambers. Both of their thoughts spoke of the same thing – it had been a very splendid celebration, a very splendid one indeed.  


	33. Gifts

**Chapter thirty-three**

**_Gifts_ **

Sigyn woke with difficulty. Her first coherent thought was that she was encircled by the lengthy form of her lover. She smiled to herself. The young God was coiled around her tightly and by his deep breathing she assumed him to still be slumbering. The Goddess guessed that it was late afternoon or more possibly early evening (though the curtains were drawn and she could not see whether it was dark outside), still she didn’t feel well-rested.

She groggily glanced about the room and her gaze was caught by something glinting that was resting on one of the nightstands. Momentarily forgetting about the man draped on her she rose to inspect the curious items. She was sure that they had not been there before and managed to realize with her slowly churning mind that those were shiny and colorful packages. Sensing the stirring beside her she quickly turned her eyes to the direction of the movement. Loki shifted to lie on his back and opened his beautiful and sleepy green orbs. He smirked as he closed them.

“Good morning” he uttered, his voice retaining hints of slumber within it.

“Good morning” she replied.

“Happy Julaften”

“Happy Julaften” came her quiet response.

The boy-prince rubbed his face in annoyance, in attempt to chase away the vestiges of sleep that still clung to him. He rose from the bed and the girl was by far too uncaring to pester him with questions concerning his destination. She flopped back onto the mattress and closed her eyes, trusting the God of Mischief to return to her (and hoping that he was not planning on throwing her clothes onto her sleep-drifting form).

She heard the sound of a door being shut softly and was not aware whether he’d returned so soon or whether she had sunk into slumbering. He was walking back to the bed, still in his nightclothes (which consisted of a black pair of underwear). The God of Deceit was carrying two cups in his hands. She fluffed two pillows up so that they both could sit and lean back into the headboard.

Carefully nudging the transparent dark green tinted curtains, that hung from the bedposts, out of the way, he placed his knee onto the mattress and handed the Vanir one of the cups.

She took it and was surprised to find the porcelain to be warm and not hot as she had expected it to be. The liquid within in was a semitransparent yellow-orange and the scent that accompanied it was foreign to her. It was an herbal smell, although she failed to place it (it was difficult to even guess since there had to be a lot of ingredients in this brew).

“What is this?” she asked, not sounding the least bit doubtful (because she wasn’t).

“It is tea” he answered as though it was the most obvious thing in the Nine.

“Thanks, I think I could have deduced that myself” the girl-woman said with sarcasm evident in her tone. “I was referring to what it was made of”

He quickly listed off all of the herbs that had gone into the tea. In total there were twelve of them (quite the number) and she did not recognize most of them. She shrugged mentally – for she really did not care all that much. The lukewarm drink smelled heavily of honey, it had to be sweet – so it was very plausible that she’d like it regardless. She took a sip and did not regret it (even if the taste was new to her) and soon many more gulps followed.

The Lie God watched her from the corner of his eye, while drinking his own tea (which was actually quite the different brew from hers). His was basically just tea leaves (black tea) with a hint of bergamot in it. The fact that they were not drinking the same thing had been planned prior. He knew that he’d be fine, although he wasn’t quite as sure that his love would be. Yes, he was aware that the Lady could hold her liqueur well. However she had drank quite the large quantity of it last night (and as he had thought – she hadn’t gotten drunk), but that was not the point, the point was that she had mixed various kinds of alcohol. Therefore, the contents of her stomach may not have been digested well and he did not wish for her to throw it all up. Given, such a bad reaction from her body might have been without lasting effect on her – not ruining her day; still he did not want to risk it. The mixture she was sipping was a very strong aid to digestive problems, capable of fixing the worst of nausea (if the root of it lied in the digestive tract). Within a half an hour her stomach would be working perfectly (and in the meantime, while the herbs worked, illness would not trouble her). The only side effect of this brew was that it could cause a slight loss of appetite, but he did not think that that was much of a loss (since most people could not even think about food after vomiting or their stomachs could not handle it at all).    

When they had finished their ‘morning’ tea, he placed the empty teacups on the nightstand that was on his side of the bed. When he turned back the Princess had already settled into the sheets as if with all the intention of going back to sleep. He chided.

“Now, now--”

“What?” she asked confused.

“It is Julaften and you are planning on sleeping it through”

She was about to tell him that she did not give a damn about that, when he resumed speaking.

“Do you not want to look at your presents?”

She was lost for a second until she remembered the brightly wrapped packages on one of the nightstands, which very actually gifts.

“No, I would like to look at them very much” she answered with a slight, charming smile, while playing with the corner of the sheet.

“Then do open them”

The young woman retrieved the presents and placed them between their bodies. She looked up at him and he gave her an expectant look. Lying back once more she delicately began tugging on the ribbon that held one of the packages, she did so with just one hand – immensely slowing down the process.

“That is going to take a century” the God of Trickery remarked.

“Shush” she said with a giggle.

He had chosen not to give her any jewelry or clothing (since he had already done so, and still had a few things left for the celebration of Nyttar) and instead had picked something that had more practical use. The gifts consisted of various books: several books of the fiction genres, scientific and those about travel, and also spell books. The one taking the crown was an ancient tome on enchantments, unlike the others (except some of the spell books) this one was not new, it was filled with the notes of the God of Magic. There were also a dozen magical trinkets that the Master Sorcerer was sure she would find very useful.

Sigyn thanked him and kissed the Godling lightly on the lips. He was happy that she liked the presents he had prepared for her. He was also glad that she had not been uncomfortable with the fact or distraught that she had not given him anything. The Heir did not want her to give him something, and how could she have done so when she had not been informed of this trip to Asgard occurring. Even if she would have gotten him something from here (with difficulty slipping away – since they had been together for most of the time) – it would be achieved only in a great rush as well as it was completely unnecessary. Having his beloved with him had made his Julaften, it was the best gift – nothing could even wish to compare. The Trickster God was pleased that he had oh so pleasantly surprised her.  

Seeing the adorable expression of childish awe on the Vanir Goddess’s face was more than worth being absent from his family, a gathering that he was currently supposed to be in. He knew that they would be very upset and angry with him for not bothering to show up (and he had made sure that no servant or page would be able to call him away from his chambers because he had barred the doors with potent spells). And he did not even care what his family members thought of this (instantly after that thought he inwardly apologized to his mother _‘because yes, yes he cared’_ ). They were probably assuming that he was too hung-over to dare show his ill physiognomy and the obvious consequences of his foolish decision-making. It was also possible that they (or at least his father) were thinking that he was too busy fucking his ‘wife’ into the bed to bother with being a proper son. Well, let them think anything – was his mind’s answer. Being here at this moment, together with his lover, was more than worth any trouble he would get into.  

* * *

 

The Prince of Asgard, in the end, had spent the evening with his family. He had received a strict lecture from the Allfather, however he’d seemed in good spirits (and it was the festive season after all) so the young man had gotten away with just that. The Queen had noted that he should have brought his ‘wife’ with him, although he believed that Frigga understood the reason behind the girl’s reluctance to attend, and she had not prodded him further.

He was not feeling exhausted, neither mentally nor physically, as he was heading back to his haven within the palace. The God was looking forward to spending the night in the pleasant company of his Princess.

When he entered his quarters he did not find her instantly, but he opted not to call for her. He chose to change into something comfier first and then go looking for his love (if it would still be necessary).

He entered his bedchamber and stopped in his tracks, greeted with something that should not have been shocking at all, but due to certain _details_ – it was. By the vanity, facing the entrance of the room, sat the female. Such a thing should not have been odd at all, but oh, it was... Too surprised to even utter a thing he simply quickly looked her over, eyes catching every detail.

A proud and triumphant smirk was firmly set upon her features, her face marvelously painted – it beautifully accentuated her stormy orbs and plump lips. But it was not the expression that had stunned him so, it was her garb – or, more accurately, lack thereof. She wore _nothing_ and the only thing that covered some of her modesty was a dark _green_ ribbon. The thin, coiling cloth was firmly laced about all of her body. It covered her breasts (well, actually it only went horizontally across the peaks of the mounds), one big bow was tied near the inside of her arm, beside her right mound; it also swirled about both of her arms; even her neck was bound by it as though with a collier and a tiny bow rested there too, although on the left side; a separate, smaller ribbon was braided into a small strand of her hair, beginning with a bow up and then disappearing and reappearing in the delicate braid. She sat sideways with one arm resting on the back of the chair, but was facing him, the chair she sat on was turned to the direction of the wall and not the door – so, her position did not allow him sight of her full body. Still her crossed legs were visible – they too were bound with the same ribbon. He was quite sure that that green strip of fabric also covered the apex of her thighs.

Her voice had all the languid quality of dispersing smoke, it echoed and swirled in the space between them, enthralling him completely. Her words were softly-spoken yet clearly audible.

“Happy Julaften”

The male was not able to reply vocally, so he only managed an awkward (but a well performed – because he was the God of Deceit after all) half-nod. He was still too hazy in mind, due to his confusion-laced surprise, but he was definitely intrigued.

The nude, ribbon-bound woman tried to uphold her mask of utter vanity and confidence. She did not wish for his perceptive eyes to catch sight of the fractures in her façade. She did not feel comfortable being this exposed. While the girl-woman was not entirely bare – thus still did not mean that she was perfectly fine with being in this state of (un)dress. The green ribbons created a certain air of mystique – which had to be doubtlessly a magnificent sight; still the chamber was quite brightly lit – allowing a scrutiny of a much higher level than she would have liked.

This was truly a gamble on her part. True, she was all risqué and audacity embodied and he himself had gifted her very ‘loud-spoken’ garb to wear publically, but this was realms away from what she had ever done – and so his possible reactions were a mystery. It was common for females to similarly attempt to seduce men, however she gave the Dark Prince more credit than that – believing him to be beyond going into a frenzy when seeing her naked flesh. The Lady thought that their passion was always mutual – but that was a theory, nothing more. She hadn’t the slightest neither on the Throne Heir’s mood (whether it was in the right direction, so that it would garner the response she intended) nor whether he was not tired after the dinner he had shared with his family.

She believed that the Trickster was not that kind of man to shoot her down, alas she feared more his deceptive, forced smiles and even more – forced and reluctant actions than blatant rejection. Inside her, within her psyche, harmony did not reign – she was not in balance. Although that was not too surprising – she thought, her lover was the God of Chaos – and that did not suggest the presence (or necessity) of order.

With the hand that was not resting on the back of the chair, Sigyn reached for something on it. And soon he was allowed sight of what it was when she removed the item that had rested on the same seat as she did. In her hand she held an intricate, sheathed dagger – also with the same green ribbon coiling about it, a pretty bow resting on its hilt. She outstretched her hand, offering the weapon to him.    

The God of Mischief approached, while keeping his focus trained on the blade she had in her hands. Kneeling beside the chair she occupied he gingerly took the item. He kept turning it in his hands, feeling its substantial weight. It was not a dagger per say, not the type the Goddess owned at least – for it was smaller. However it was not a stiletto, so not the kind of weapon that was intended for more discreet use (like that of assassinations), still its size reflected the fact that it would be easier to use discreetly.

“This is Dverger forged” the young God said and it was not a question. Raising his green orbs to meet hers, he inquired “When had you commissioned it?”

“Quite the while ago actually, when I had been visiting my father--” he wondered, but did not ask, how did that go. Surely she had to have said to the Dwarf something about what had happened in Asgard (the wedding). Though while it may have been tricky (he was not aware of the province King’s temper), he was sure that his beloved had managed to cleverly persuade her parent into forging the weapon on her request. “--I hadn’t planned on going here, as you well know, but I am very glad that I got to spend the holiday with you and give this to you properly”

He nodded absentmindedly at the explanation. Unsheathing the dagger he began inspecting the blade. There were Dverger runes etched into it, and while he was quite knowledgeable on them, he only knew the meaning and purpose of most but not all of them.

“Know the runes?” came her lilting voice with its tone of inquiry.

“Not all” he pointed at two, which he failed to identify “This one and that – escape me”

“Ahhhh, those two are very rare, not sure whether weapons with such can be found even in the black market. The ones you can tell are of course meant to strengthen the weapon, so that the blade would not be broken and the like. This one though--” the Vanir pointed with her finger to the harsh-lined one at the very tip of the sharp dagger “Its purpose is to ensure success of the blade’s strike” His eyes found her again and she interrupted him, as though she knew what he was going to say “No, not luck – not like that at all. It’s an ancient Dverger rune that enforces the weapon to be deadly – as deadly as it could possibly be. Since you most possibly know what Dwarves think of assassinations (although they occur all the same, and quite frequently too) it is understandable why weaponry with such is so rare”

“So it is a murderous weapon” the boy-prince stated, but there was no distaste or any other kind of negative emotion behind his words. He was very pleased with this gift, very pleased indeed.

“Quite, quite” she agreed with a slight smile. “And the one at the base is something probably even rarer than that”

The Sorcerer’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the said rune at the very beginning of the blade, trying to remember or prudently guess the reason behind that symbol of curved and delicate lines; from a long shot, it resembled a flame – and that could mean anything really.

“It’s a rune designed specifically for weapons used by magicians or those meant to be heavily laced with sorcery. A relic of a symbol really, very ancient, no doubt--”

“Indeed. Dwarves do not use magic, they enchant metal and such. But the magic I use – is foreign in comparison to what they wield” the Master of Magic interrupted the speaking Princess.

“Exactly. If I wouldn’t know better, I would assume that this would be of _those_ times of old, when the Dverger kin dealt much less reluctantly with the Elves. However this must be older than that – because this is not the rune that aids Elven magic”

“It is not?” he was surprised by that and one of his thin eyebrows even rose to illustrate the perfect visage of questioning.

“Ah-uh, isn’t. Well, maybe, maybe it’s meant for the magic of the Dark Elves (still there’s so little known about them) – but I don’t think that it’s that. It is more outlandish than that, less intricate than what the Elven used to use – less ‘swirly’. Though I can’t give any theories about the origin, but I know that it’s supposed to be very powerful. It was not easy to get this dagger made, finding someone knowledgeable enough to work on it had been a challenge”      

The God of spell-craft did not tear his eyes from the dagger and the symbols engraved on its blade; it was a marvelous weapon indeed.

“Do you recognize the metal?” she inquired after a pause.

“No, sadly I do not” he could successfully tell apart more than a few already worked metals and prided himself in his ability to do the same even with ores – but could not say what material this dagger was forged from. It’s not like he had had grown up in a forge.

“It’s adamantium”

The Magician knew the name and the metal, alas that did not leave everything uncovered. Adamantium was an alloy and it could be made from several different metals – it did not have a definite ‘recipe’. It was called so due to its sturdiness, after ‘adamants’ – diamonds in other words, however he had not heard the precious stones to ever have been used in anyway in the making of the alloy. But one way or another, it was still one of the most unbreakable metals in the Nine – which only added to this weapon’s uniqueness and usefulness.

“The materials required can be found on Midgard and Svartalfheim – however the origin of the metals used in this alloy is from neither”

“From where then?” he simply had to ask because what she said denied of what he knew of adamantium, there were only two realms that had the ores necessary – and she had excluded them both.

“Muspellheim and Jotunheim, of course” Sigyn uttered the last two words with a slightly annoying certainty – as if he was supposed to know that.

True, the primordial world of fire was rich with igneous (both intrusive and extrusive) and metamorphic rocks, but Jotunheim, what kind of ores did that desolate place have to offer? Probably something from sedimentary rocks, he reckoned – but he was no metal-forger, so it was only a wild guess. And more importantly, how and when had the Dwarves gotten their hands on it? It must have been at least millennium old stocks, there was no way that it was transported from that realm recently! Had she said that it were of Muspellheim and Niflheim – then it would have been a logical guess (the World of Primal Fire had a plentitude of ores, so the World of Primal Ice had to have something similar in an inversed fashion – the balance was only natural), but she had said Jotunheim instead. How in the Unnamed Realms did Jotunheim draw into this picture, anyway?

The God of Lies shook himself out of the inner debate for she continued.

“This alloy, this adamantium, is ever stronger than that which can be forged from Midgardian ores or from those of Svartalfheim”

The Master Magician tentatively probed his gift with energy.

“This is Vanir enchanted, is it not?”

“Pardon?” she asked quickly and confusedly, as though she had not heard. However the girl-woman had and so she responded to his question “I hadn’t done anything to it of the sort”

It was very peculiar for he felt a definite Vanir energy pulsing within the dagger. After his years of knowing his Goddess, he had become sensitive to her inherited energy pattern. And there was no doubt in his mind that it was the aura of a Vanir lingering in the weapon, even more specifically it was hers (although he hadn’t told her that). If he was wrong, however, then there was that theory that perhaps this was the signature of Vanaheim that had imbedded itself so firmly. But well, that theory was extremely unlikely – and both the Gods were aware of that. The Prince was not aware of how long the object had spent in that realm, still the fact remained that there was no way it had been there long enough for such to occur.

After a few minutes of contemplative silence, the female spoke again.

“It’s really silly...”

“What is?” he asked curiously.

“It’s silly, really. But when it was finished I had deliberately taken the naked blade and clasped it hard in my hand, consequently cutting my skin with it. I had had this silly notion that since, as you say, I am the ‘Goddess of Victory’ – I should be the first to spill my blood on it, in order to make the wielder’s – your – intentions concerning the weapon explicitly victorious”

Her explanation made absolute sense, the reason behind the sensations was cleared. The kneeling man looked up at the woman adoringly, a tender, pearly smile graced his features.

“And it shall be victorious”

He rose just slightly from his position to press the most softest of kisses to her mouth. He pulled just a bit away and whispered to her his appreciation, his breath ghosting on her lips with every exhale.

“Thank you for the gift, my dearest Sigyn”

The girl’s eyelashes fluttered from both his kiss and the intensity of his feather-envied soft words.

“That is not all”

The male pulled away expectant and pleasantly surprised once more, although he moved with the slightest of reluctance perceivable – his wish to be as close as possible to his lover was immense.

From the vanity she handed him a large, oval nut with obvious grooves carved by nature. It centered itself nicely in his palm. Not something of Asgard’s harvest though, it was the best to assume that this was one of Vanaheim’s creations. The nut had little weight to it and he had quickly noticed that the shell had been opened. The God of Mischief had been curious before, but now knowing that there was something inside that hadn’t been there prior, made him all the more curious. Although it was not a nut that he knew, he judged that it was safe to assume that the shell no longer housed the nut itself. The casing, where the fruit of the nut-tree had been, fit perfectly like a Dverger cogwheel along the natural crack through which it had been opened, making it a sturdy container for something small.

Despite burning with the need to know what she had placed inside, he still spared a glance the Lady’s way. Her eyes were trained on the fingers of his hand, which held the empty nutshell, she was absentmindedly toying with the ribbon in her hair. Encouraged by her eagerness (although there wasn’t any need for further encouragement), the Godling twisted the shell and opened it.

Inside rested a thick, silver ring. He carefully removed it and brought it for closer inspection. The part of the piece of jewelry that would be visible when wearing on a finger was open-worked in delicate nets that knotted in marvelous patterns. Around the rig, over the netting and sometimes through it, a silver snake wound its way – emeralds rested as its eyes. The serpent was not depicted consuming its tail, not like the Ouroboros (a symbol which Midgardians who called themselves ‘alchemists’ used so often now). Rather the metallic member of the reptilia class looked proud somehow, not representing an eternal circle or reincarnation, or otherwise – but showing a purposeful, determined meandering towards many goals with no repetition involved. This was, in a way, a twin to the serpent ring he had given to Sigyn.

“We already have marked ourselves, but I thought that it would be a good gift, if at any time you’d wish to make our connection a vivid statement. Or well, something along those lines” his love said with wide sparkling eyes, she looked so wonderfully adorable – he didn’t resist the urge to kiss her, while blindly putting on the ring on his marred forefinger.

“Thank you” the God of Deceit uttered breathlessly, the light touch of lips not quite the thing to blame for his labored breathing.

“Ah-ah” the young woman said in playful warning as she moved her index finger in the same notion.

He descended the few inches back into his kneeling position and appeared to be confused, if the slight furrowing of his brow and the tilt of his head was any indicator to go by.

“There is another gift left”

His green orbs widened in understanding, he nodded softly. Her own eyes were twinkling with a greenish sparkle which he failed to place; she was not saying anything or moving a muscle.

“Which is?” he urged his beloved to tell him because his patience was nowhere in sight.

Gracefully and slowly her hands moved inwards and them out outwards, fingers too moving in a similarly enchanting fashion (like that of a street-magician’s, just much more fluidly and bewitchingly). It was a presenting gesture and the Lie God understood it fully for what it was only when she answered him.

“ _Me_ ” she said with a mischievous smirk.

His eyebrows shot up. It was wrong to say that the God had momentarily forgotten the Goddess’s lack of dress (for it was very distracting and very inviting to look at), it was just that he hadn’t added any insinuating labels to it. Not that thinking about the Vanir in any _sensual_ way was wrong or would be disapproved by her, simply his mind process did not work like that. Which was a good thing though, for if her garb or something like that would get him thinking solely on loving her (or worse – get him in a frenzy), then he would be in that state every moment spent in her presence. And the Trickster God found it very difficult, borderline impossible, thinking about anything else when his thoughts were orbiting around Sigyn with a devious imaginary and intent. So he appreciated but did not lust for her, because if he did – then he _had_ to have her; it was just how things worked with him.

It took him a dozen of seconds to recover and break into a mischievous grin. His hand found the female’s ribbon-bound calf, spidery finger starting a cold caress, as he purred.

_“You? To do as I please?_ ”

“ _Yes_ ” she told him quietly, as his lips – now raining down butterfly-wing kisses on her collarbone, stole the regularity of her breathing.

The Dark Prince understood that by allowing him to do _anything_ to her, she allowed him to do everything he liked – meaning that she trusted him enough to not do anything that she would vehemently oppose. It was not like he had not had her trust before or even wanted to do something that she would find utterly unacceptable, but still it was somehow invigorating to hear her say that ‘yes’.

He gathered his Princess into his arms, her individually ribbon-entwined legs winding themselves about his torso. He lifted her off of the chair, kissing her mouth slowly and enjoying every second of it. The Trickster carried the young Goddess to a nearby wall and rested her weight on a ledge protruding from it. He still had the gifted dagger in one hand and he unsheathed it, placing the sheath on a wardrobe. She did not startle at the sight of the bared blade. He used the weapon to carefully cut some of the emerald ribbons that coiled about her arms and one of her legs, all the while sweetly tormenting her neck and every inch of her skin that was accessible to his lips. The Princeling quickly grew bored with the action and so he allowed the sharp item to rest beside its sheath.

Softly prying away the coil that obscured the peak of one of her breasts, he took the pink bud into his mouth. He gently sucked at it, letting his silver tongue play with the tip. His lover’s fingers drowned themselves in his black locks, slightly tugging in a request that he would not cease the action.

His mind strayed and spawned a twisted idea, making him release that delicious peak. It was indescribably wicked, so wicked that he cursed himself for even allowing his psyche to conjure such. It was crooked, it was wrong – and it held his brain tightly with its little, blood soaked talons. The God of Trickery could not stop himself from groaning and torturing his lower lip between his teeth. Surely, when his beloved had allowed him anything, she hadn’t thought that he would come up with something like _that_. But it wouldn’t hurt to try, would it? No, no – he could not do such a thing! Oh, but how he wanted to... Why did he have to be so egoistical and so sick? Although, if she would wish to stop him – she would not stay silent, would she? It was just a game, a play-pretend, the Lady didn’t have to go through _anything_. And so in the end, he decided to go through with his maleficent plan.

The Golden Throne Heir distracted his love (and himself) by pushing his tongue into her mouth and kissing her passionately. He was standing close to the girl-woman and one of his arms was holding her form even closer to him, caressing her nude flesh idly. He brought the adamantium dagger to the ribbons that bound her derriere and the apex of her thighs. He had to sever the pleasurable contact of her lips, so that his attention would be solely on cutting the material. Sigyn was breathing heavily and she saw what he was doing, she did not appear to find anything unacceptable with it... _yet_.

With his task done he looked up to the gorgeous creature who was all his. He moved the weapon away, using the wardrobe as leverage he sheathed the weapon, alas he did not leave it to rest there. He kissed the young woman once more and nudged his form in between her legs, she spread them to accommodate him without complaint. When breathing become quite necessary he broke the kiss and stepped away – not very far, a quarter of a step away. Confusion knit the Princess’s eyebrows, although she was a bit too out of breath and a bit too much in a euphoric state to give much thought to his actions.

She felt something, _something_ softly press her now uncovered core. Swiftly she looked down, instantly feeling that something was off, and just as quickly raised her eyes to the mischievous Prince. He was chewing on his lip and met her gaze squarely. She felt her heart rate increase, she was alarmed. Unconsciously her hand, which had been previously lingering on his clothed arm, now clasped it tightly. He wasn’t doing anything yet and she was already shocked, she hadn’t expected him to want something like _this_. The girl was not planning on protesting, but she wasn’t delighted by this idea, far from it. However he wanted it so it was alright, and he was quick to grow bored therefore this wouldn’t last long, would it?...

Loki brought his body as though to shield her, one of his arms holding her and moving in a soothing motion. He knew that this was an ill-conceived idea, but he just couldn’t refuse it. He continued worrying his lip and it might have bled, but he didn’t care. Slowly and softly he slightly pushed the hilt of the sheathed dagger into her shivering physique. The God of Magic wished more than just blood to ‘bless’ the weapon – how wrong was that? She released a silent dismayed sound, not as much from physical discomfort (or so he hoped) but rather from the mental turbulence that she was experiencing.

The Vanir looked down to the foreign object entering her core. She held onto the young man tightly. The hilt of the dagger was worth about (or more than) three of his fingers, and she was moist and aroused, but not enough to accommodate that. However the root of the problem was not quite her unreadiness for such an intrusion.

Her love was possessive to unimaginable heights and she would have never, ever, believed that he would want to use something aside from his own appendages to prod her like this. He was an Aesir and so his heritage did not mean that he would have any trouble pleasuring a woman (Asgardians could be great lovers, if they only wanted to be such) – hence the use of inanimate objects was unnecessary. Furthermore, what she had heard from females talking about their experiences (for example, Lofn liked to gossip about her bedmates), and having that as comparison – she was aware that her Dark Prince was an extremely gifted lover (and she was not even referring to pre-loving games).

The weapon was pushed into her deeper and she refused to watch how his hand pressed the damned thing into her. She tried her best, but it was really difficult to stop the not very happy humming sounds escaping the confines of her throat. The male was trying to calm her, alas it wasn’t really working. Her insides, heck, her whole body was confused, frightened and alarmed – the fact that her mind knew what was going on wasn’t helping at all. Involuntarily her core clenched about the unwanted object, as if trying to dispel it from her insides. The Lady closed her eyes and tried to regulate her breathing. It was cold and the texture of it was all wrong – and her body was painfully aware of that. Sure, any extremities her beloved inserted into her were not exactly warm, sometimes his bodily temperature was even cold, alas despite that – her physique was somehow well aware that this was a dead object and not a part of a living creature. Whatever arousal Asgard’s Heir had managed to inspire was all gone now, her core was very dry – and the hilt was moving deeper, it hurt. The Goddess tried to force her form to relax but to no avail, it just wasn’t recognizing this strange object that was penetrating her.

The God of Lies felt that she wasn’t comfortable. However he did not stop moving the weapon, although he did so as carefully as was possible. He attempted to distract the girl by caressing, kissing, licking, nipping and sucking at her skin. He was well aware of how Sigyn felt – this whole thing was probably a big gamble for her, their positions were so uneven, for example he was fully dressed and she wasn’t, which was enough to disrupt any balance of power.

Minutes passed and the situation wasn’t changing, so he opted to begin whispering nonsense to her – the idea was to quell her, let his silver tongue do its work to make her physique aware that he did not just mean it no harm but was also trying to pleasure her (however unconventionally).

“ _Shssssssh_ ” the Lie God shushed, while his hand rubbed reassuring circles onto her thigh. “ _It is me... I am doing this to you. Relax... enjoy. My beautiful, beautiful Goddess, my lover... I love you, let me love you_ ” he whispered steadily, truthfully, _lovingly_ into her ear.

The quivering girl-woman understood what he was trying to do. What he said was not something that she was not aware of, the point of the words was to make her body put the two together – so that it would realize that this swaying foreign object was moved by something it liked and was intimately acquainted with. It would always take just a few seconds for her physique to recognize its lover’s body (but a few minutes – for her physique to relax completely, because that was a different matter), alas in this situation it was having trouble making the connection. The Princess wasn’t sure whether his vocal lulling was making any difference.  

It took a long time but the young woman did relax and began enjoying it. She did not buck, perhaps the dagger was too much of a foreign object for her body to completely accept it. Still, the fact remained that he managed to make her climax. The hilt of the sheathed blade was drenched in the liquid her core produced in excess now (as if trying to compensate), and Loki’s fingers and knuckles had managed to get slightly wet.

As her inner clenching subsided in its rate so did his ministrations. When they had nearly stopped the God gingerly removed the hilt of the weapon from her core and placed it atop the wardrobe. He had succeeded in getting the dagger ‘blessed’ by her, it made him feel very satisfied with his achievement.

All the while he observed her, he could tell that she hadn’t yet been grounded from her cloud-fall. It took a couple of minutes for the female Vanir to return. She did not glare at him, as he would have expected her to if he would have pushed her into such a position without permission, she watched him with heavily lidded, greenish eyes. He pressed a soft kiss to her unresponsive lips; her breathing was still labored. Her gaze still trailed him and he was aware of it as he brought his tongue once over his knuckles.

The Godling encircled his arms around her, she relaxed into him. He took the girl into his arms, being careful to gather all of her weight since she wasn’t holding onto him very tightly – she was still a bit out of it. While she had appeared calm, the way she hid her face into his shoulder indicated otherwise. He pressed a light kiss to the top of her head. The God of Mischief carried her to the bed and simultaneously began removing the ribbons that still remained on her form.

The God of spell-craft willed the coverlet to move away and placed his love onto the center of the mattress. He bid the candles to dim themselves and for the green coils to untangle themselves from her, when they had finished their task they slinked to the ground.

He was through with his games tonight, he had gotten more than enough and was deeply satisfied with that. No further wish to sweetly torment her remained within him. And so the Master Sorcerer cast the spell over his clothing (a feat he had learned in Vanaheim on that damnably memorable megalith altar, not an achievement that was reached without the ‘aid’ of the Victory Goddess). Every garment dissipated from his body and reappeared on the chair the Lady had occupied. He was through with playing, therefore manually removing his clothes was out of the question, and Norns forbid – he was not planning on ‘ordering’ Sigyn to disrobe him.

Loki joined her on the bed and brought the sheet to cover him from waist down. The ribbon in her hair still remained so he unbraided the little braid with care, tossing the green coil somewhere in the chamber. He then pushed that stray lock behind her ear and pecked her cheek softly.

The man was not planning on tenderly violating her form just because he had already played enough and because he was sure that she was ready to accept him. No, the other reason was that his wicked, twisted self had found the dagger-play to be incredibly arousing. He was glad to be rid of his restraining clothing.

Just to check whether the Princess was ready to be joined with him, he gently pressed the tips of his fingers to the swollen flesh between her folds, all the while observing her features. A dismayed sound escaped her, and the young Prince understood what her body was trying to convey with it, it ‘said’ – ‘no, no, I’m still too fresh, too raw, don’t touch!’. And so he removed his spidery appendages.

His attention was stolen by her marvelous, small and perky mounds. He took both of them into his hands and kneaded softly. Afterwards the Trickster kissed the peak of her right breast, he enveloped it into his mouth and sucked intensely. Afterwards he gifted her left breast with the same attention. He loved the way the Vanir arched into his mouth, as if she were metal and he – a magnet.

The God of Trickery kissed, licked, sucked, nibbled and touched – he rained down his love on the pure beauty that was Sigyn. Minutes passed and he spent them languorously ravishing his beloved.

Enough time had passed for the female’s form to cool down. He rarely aligned their bodies by hand, but he did so now just to make the entering of her core as soft as possible. However for all his good intentions, the moment the tip of his hardened length had entered that tight, oppressing heat – he couldn’t contain himself. His slammed his hips into hers, pushing himself all the way into her core.

Their bond flared into life instantly; the girl-woman arched, he gasped. The Trickster God was absolutely aware of his lover. He was glad that despite the forceful penetration – she wasn’t in pain. In a matter of seconds her whole body relaxed, recognizing and clenching about him – tightening from pleasure, not in an attempt to reject the intrusion. He felt what her physique resonated, it metaphorically wept in joy – it was a familiar thing that now was sheathed inside it, something that always (even if not instantly) brought it euphoric joy.

Her mouth caught his in a fiery kiss, her tongue pushing its way into his maw. The God of Deceit could wait no more, he set up a rhythm – it was not the slowest (probably the kind the Godlings liked most) and not slow, however it wasn’t fast either (or at least what they called fast – for that was deep and drawn-out thrusting, so not exceedingly fast as much as it was forceful, rough even). He moved within her without letting go of her delicious, plump lips. She had even risen slightly from the mattress and they both kept angling their heads, to make the lip-lock even better, although their position was changed somehow he did not have any trouble continuing to sway into her perfect, perfect core.

Soon the position proved to be a bit uncomfortable and so the Goddess’s back met the bed while his body was pressed fully into her. She was swaying beneath him, matching his pace quite successfully. Her shinning emerald eyes were mesmerizing, the envy-green eye-shadow with a thick line of black kohl and onyx mascara only accentuated that. Her partially opened mouth was inviting, her lower lip required to be bitten and so he did.

The God of Lies needed her, he was burning – and she was burning too. Her first high was intoxicating and made him hide in the junction of her shoulder and neck, it was oh so difficult to not follow her to the clouds and beyond. The Lady was shuddering, mewling and her tightness squeezed him – it was not something the Silver Tongue could sufficiently describe. He tried not to change the tempo in lieu for a faster one, although it was clear that her body would very much appreciate that in its overpowering ecstasy. His length throbbed and her core just kept clenching about him, the Lie God was quietly groaning into her neck.

* * *

 

Sigyn’s cloud-falls were numerous and each one was addicting, the call-backs of her pleasure much the same. Despite how very eager both of the younglings had been, throughout the hours the rhythm their loving held had slowed considerably. Now the Golden Throne Heir wanted to draw out the process of making love – and so he had. It hadn’t been frantic at any moment, however the thrusts spoke of a great need for contact – which in its intensity would have ended everything much sooner. But the raging flames had been calmed by the girl’s climaxes, allowing their loving to become sweet (that did not mean that it was the slowest of lovings – the kind which was indescribable; this had a name – it was sweet, called so for their pace, soft touches and even softer kisses).

The beauty beneath the God of Mischief was close to reaching her high and shattering down from it, he knew that he was not far behind. At times her legs had wrapped themselves about him this night, and while it consequentially made his thrusting less drawn-out – he hadn’t tried to stop her. For a good few falls she hadn’t done so, however now her long limbs had clasped him tightly – he did not fight the action, nor did he disallow it.

The girl-woman often clawed or playfully scratched at his back when he was moving so deep inside her, but now she just held him tight – her sharp nails leaving crescent-shaped marks on his pale, cold perspiration coated skin.

Somehow the Godling became aware that her (not his) high would occur in a second or so, it was not the intensifying pulsing of her core around him that revealed that to him – he did not care what did though. He wanted to aid pushing her from her mountain of pleasure, so he kissed his love with ardor.

The Vanir Princess’s lover roughly shoved his tongue into her mouth. The kiss broke the sweetness of the moment – that wasn’t minded though. And that silver tongue prodding her mouth so insistently combined with his length, somehow despite her leg-lock, thrusting so deep and hitting a sweet spot without reprieve – was too much. The wet appendage in her mouth was not touching throat-deep – it would have to be elongated for that and it wasn’t, but she felt as though she was filled more than she could be, as if some sort of boundary was passed – the sensation was ethereal and overbearing. It did not hurt nor did it cause her discomfort – the way Loki kept hitting her cervix. She was flung into sensory overload, she was so _full_. The Goddess’s eyes were tightly shut and the sounds her vocal cords created were all swallowed by him (he might have actually been letting out vocalizations of pleasure as well, she could not tell) – as she climaxed.

The frequency and the power in the spasms of her insides – quickly made the boy-prince follow suit in her high. His rhythm became as chaotic as hers, when he spilled himself in her core with jerky thrusts. The shared euphoria and its echoes, which went both ways, was as always indescribable and perfectly magnificent – the _divine perfection_.

It so happened that when the second-born Prince came crashing down – he hadn’t let go of her mouth. Her pleasure and his was fantastically too much. As the cold, cold liquid burst into her overheated core, overflowing it, she let out a strained and quite loud sound of muffled ‘mmmm’s. He released her mouth before fully finishing with his fall.

After their shared high both were panting heavily, with spots dancing in their visions. The young man was trying to hold his weight on shaking arms, she tried to help him keep his balance, however her limbs were encased by a much too similar quaking (perhaps even more so). As to not collapse onto her (although she never seemed to mind when he did, she even appeared to appreciate his full weight resting on her – but that was not the point), he moved away, consequentially severing the connection between their bodies and dimming down their bond. The male did not have the necessary strength to growl, hiss or complain in some other fashion because of his lax length slipping out of her invitingly warm body, his breath did of course get caught when it happened and his dainty, little lover gasped audibly. He fell onto his side.

Loki was about to bring Sigyn closer to him, to have her rest her head onto his chest – or something along the lines, when she shifted. Both of the younglings were breathless and tired, so he did not care if she were the one to move closer to him. The young woman scooted towards him and pressed her form lightly to his, however she moved slightly higher on the pillow – and he was not sure why she did that, but he was too blissfully lethargic to think about it. Soon he did get his answer, for the Lady pulled his head into her breasts. The exhausted male’s hands found her waist beneath the covers, coming to lie there as if with the intention of keeping his beloved in this position. He felt so _good_ , his face was pressed into her small and soft bosom, their bodies were close and touching, he was warm and contented – everything felt flawless.

The lovers fell asleep quickly, and no nightmares dared to tarnish their slumber.                

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adamantium – well, I think it is pretty obvious why I’ve chosen to use this fictional alloy. I wanted to use a highly unbreakable metal and adamantium is considered that in the Marvel universes (examples of use: some versions of Captain America’s shield, Hawkeye has used adamantium arrowheads, Ironman has used adamantium bullets, Ultron’s outer casing; Wolverine’s and Lady Deathstrike’s skeletons and etc.).  
> There are several ‘recipes’ for making this alloy – and that is the thing I had played with by having certain types be crafted outside of Midgard. And at the current time portrayed – adamantium is not manufactured on Earth (though what ores can be found there are known to some of the Nine).
> 
> Ouroboros – is a symbol of a snake or a dragon devouring its own tail (if you do not know what it looks like, you should google it); it can represent something repetitive or cyclical, or something of eternal recreation.  
> Although it is an ancient symbol it is very much associated with alchemy (for its wide use by alchemists). Loki denying the gifted ring’s connection to the Ouroboros (and mentioning of alchemy being popular in Midgard) was my way of specifying more what period it is on Earth. Alchemy was a subject born in ancient times, but I am specifically referring to its high-tide of popularity throughout Europe – that could be somewhere between early and late Middle Ages.


	34. Feasting. Part I

**Chapter thirty-four**

**_Feasting_ ** **. Part I**

The week of Romjul was coming to pass, soon Nyttar would bring the passing of the old year and the new one’s beginning. The lovers were spending their time wonderfully. With them staying within the walls of Gladsheim, visiting places outside the palace, where few would enter randomly, or being with Thor and his friends – having their happiness interrupted by anyone (or mainly one very troublesome God) was highly unlikely.

Alas avoiding any confrontations came with a price – perhaps a price too high. With Sigyn being in Asgard there shouldn’t have been any reasons why she and Syn could not meet – but there were, the reason behind it was Njord. Her baby-sister had been locked up in her home – and to the two Godlings thus should not have stood in the way. Both were Sorcerers, both were powerful – but apparently, they were not powerful enough to go around everything without getting singed. The girl-woman wanted to see her younger sibling again fervently and the God of Mischief was not against that – he had tried to make her understandable dream come true – however the attempts had not been successful.

Both younglings were aware that the young woman’s grandfather-not-really-grandfather would have taken precautions against that meeting coming into reality, so the Master Magician had needed to scout the Noatun palace. He had allowed a slip of his energy to slip into the sea dome – but what he found was the very reason why the sisters would not be able to reunite. That whiff of magical smoke had entered the grand house with ease – a barrier surrounding it was felt, however it hadn’t fought against letting the energy pass through. But there was a catch – that was no ordinary barrier that the Sea God had erected – it was a _trap_. The weaving of the magical walls was loose – allowing anything and everything to enter, however the moment that something entered – the weaving tightened itself, disallowing any exit.

So it was correct to say that the Lady could meet the doll-child – but at what cost... It was clear that the Lord wanted to trap her specifically, although the exact reason was unknown. The depth of Njord’s anger was also unknown. Loki was generally distrustful and due to the Vanir female’s crossing of the Nobleman – neither was certain whether the elder God would not _harm_ her. Therefore having her visit her baby-sister was not possible.

The other option was no better – it was doable as well – but the repercussions for it were just as unappealing. The Dark Prince was the untitled God of Magic – he could keep the closing of the barrier at bay, but for how long? It was a spell from Vanaheim and he knew how _unpredictable_ those were. He might estimate a half-hour window – but he could also be wrong. It was a strong enchantment to be sure – else his beloved would have managed to break it entirely on her own and she had tried – but to no avail. If they were to risk it anyway – the God of Seas and Fishermen would come to know of it.

If they would escape maybe it would be alright, but if they were caught... Even if it were to be just the God of Deceit to get trapped (and it was the safer option of the two) – he would not be harmed (Njord wouldn’t dare to harm the King’s child), but the matter would without a doubt be brought to the Allfather. It was true that Odin was in a good mood (more or less), so the Princess’s attempt to see her sibling would be pardoned – besides, it would be faulty to punish someone for entering the house of their (even if past) family in order to see one’s kin. She would not do anything unforgivable – in the eyes of Realm Eternal, therefore the Ruler could not punish her in anyway (of course that did not mean that her ‘grandfather’ couldn’t – for that was exactly what he had in mind). However if the one to be captured trespassing were to be the Throne Heir himself – well, the forgiveness of the God of Wisdom would not be as easy to attain.

The Lie God did not wish to risk the Goddess’s safety and she did not wish to risk his – it was a stalemate. Therefore it had been decided – Sigyn and Syn would not meet, not this time.

The Godlings had spent a significant amount of time with the firstborn Prince and his comrades. Nearly all of the warriors had grown very fond of the new ‘wife’ of the second-born Heir (except for the warrioress, whose relation to her turned for the opposite with every meeting past).

It had become apparent that the Vanir was more similar to him than he had initially believed, they shared a trait concerning how they interacted with other people. Whenever the subject of conversation was not war-tales and the like, when they were focused onto the matter of other realms and traveling – she was an excitable conversant. She could easily get lost in enthusiastic exchanges between herself and Thor or Volstagg. However when the topic was out of her sphere of interests she contributed very little to it and was not wary of showing her boredom (which went on unnoticed) – but the others did register her times of silence. Perhaps they did not think it to be born of boredom because they did not know her well and thought that it was a personality trait of hers, or perhaps they had gotten used to the conversing style of the God of Lies – either way, they did not find it strange.

Once the gutsy axe-wielder had noted something on Niflheim – which the Goddess of _Boundaries_ would have to see to understand. She had replied with a simple ‘perhaps’, but there had been a peculiar gleam in her eyes and a smirk dancing on her lips – not mocking, no, still these subtle things had portrayed a feeling of superiority (of course it was something only a trained eye could’ve caught). The God of Trickery had practically heard the ‘ _if only you knew_ ’ chuckling darkly in her thoughts. Neither the mischievous twinkle in her orbs nor her quirking of lips – had been meant for or directed at him, however he still felt as though he was far too connected to not be in on the game. The glinting sign of the secret had not been for him, but he was still part of it, and he loved this particular secret.

Her knowledge on various worlds was not questioned. It was simply assumed that she knew all of that from books (just like what was often assumed about the Trickster), and there was no other explanation known – for all they knew the Bifrost was the only means of travelling between worlds. Therefore it was simply thought that she was a bookworm, only being aware of things from the literature that she had read – and oh, was that a wrong assumption...

It had become obvious that the girl did not appreciate Fandral’s flirting, playful it may be – but despite that she was either reluctant to even pretend that she heard him well or reluctant to contain her annoyance. With her obvious disinterest and the fact that he doubted that the flirty man would ever dare to actually try and seduce this particular married woman – he was quite low on his jealousy scale. Still it did not mean that he was not irritated by the ‘charming’ attempts at playful wooing, he was somewhat on the same page with her on that. However no matter the girl-woman’s unhidden disinterest (when she was in lighter spirits) and responses containing light mockery – Fandral liked her (although it could be said that that male liked almost every female of age, but he liked the royal female in a more personal sense).

And Hogun, well Hogun, surprisingly, was not a different case. If said warrior had truly felt indifference towards the Lady, then it had become apparent that now he did not. It had been shocking (although considering the man’s elusive nature it was not surprising) to learn that he too was a Vanir. It was probably not a highly guarded piece of information, but the Trickster God had not been aware of the fact. The Master of spell-craft had never felt (even now that he knew) Vanir energy being present in him. There had to be an explanation of that though, perhaps it was because the male had never been to his heim-land (although if that were true, then Syn was an exception to that – but perhaps that was because of her strong heritage from her maternal side) or perhaps it was because he was part Aesir. If the latter was true – that would explain why the daughters (although the strength of that signature energy varied) of Freya had strong Vanir power. Maybe it was simply because Vanir and Dverger blood mixed better than Vanir and Aesir did.

It was not just that common fact between Hogun and the Goddess of ‘Fidelity’ that had made him like her. No, she had managed to unlock more than such information from him, and what she had uncovered told that he still possessed the tiniest bit of the fire of Vanaheim. The Princeling was certain that if the warrior was not so loyal to Asgard (or more accurately to the God of Thunder, for it was his sole right to claim loyalty from the Vanir male) – he would have fallen to his knees for Sigyn. She had made that ember flare more brightly within the man, and it was only rightly so – for she was the ‘insane’ _Queen_ of Vanaheim (that was what the boy-prince’s mind had begun categorizing her as). If not for that loyalty given to Realm Eternal, it would have been freely given to the Vanir Goddess, to _them_. And it was a bizarre thought – that somehow it would have been more fortunate to have Hogun on _their_ side (when in all actuality there were no sides – it was a strange subconscious interference that had spawned such faulty wording), to have him obeying the young woman first and Asgard – second. Then again, perhaps it was not all that strange – the untitled God of Chaos dealt with many questionable things, it would not be against _his_ and _their_ gain to have someone with a broader view on things, for he himself was always open to new ideas.

Lady Sif though – was not amongst the ones who appreciated the presence of the new Princess of Asgard. There had not been any valid reason of any kind given for the dislike, but it was still there (and perhaps even growing to hatred). Both of the females spoke civilly with one another, alas that did not mean that the words exchanged were appreciated by the intended receiver. The warrior Goddess was quick to discredit the other’s knowledge – although it was not spoken in any openly insulting way, Sif was too dull minded for subtle insults and her upbringing disallowed her to be very rude. In return she got occasional and randomly timed quips from the royal girl, they were truly witty and subtle – and while the warrioress may not have understood them fully, she was still aware of the mockery – even if it was vague. It was obvious that the two women disliked each other, quite heavily.

* * *

 

When Loki returned to the bedchamber he found Sigyn still reading a book on _their_ bed. The wording made his mind digress from its original line of thought. It was so _right_ to call that bed theirs. For that piece of furniture had not had any other occupants in it, and even if his lover was a rare guest – it still counted. It could have been said that Thor also had slept in that bed, however it was not entirely correct because he had not crashed in his room in quite some time. About seven years ago the Master Sorcerer had absentmindedly played with an enchanted firestone (the potency of which he had not known at that time) – that had resulted in a big hole being burnt into the mattress. Therefore it had to be changed, and since then there were only two beings to ever slumber in the bed. This bed was _important_ – it was where they both had _bled_ (him from her delicious and sharp fingernails), having spent their very first night with each other on it.

He had wanted to keep the bedding of that night, alas he couldn’t have followed the whim. The idea had seemed inviting to him – perhaps the linen could create the illusion of sleeping beside his beloved – which in turn always made his slumber sweet and restful (not that he was plagued by nightmares, he rarely remembered his dreams at all); yes, it was sentimentality – but he had chosen to ignore that fact.

The linen had been dirtied (and he had made sure that his love would not catch a glimpse of her blood on the sheet – for it was likely that any gaze from him given to that spot would have been misinterpreted by her and consequentially would have angered her) – so it had to be cleaned. Giving this task to servants had not even crossed the young man’s mind, not because there would have been some sort of trouble for him – having people assume (or worse, rumors spread of) him spending a night with an innocent maiden – it was in no way forbidden to him. However, despite that both of the younglings would have liked to ignore and deny the fact, the small amount of blood spilt on those sheets was potent – and a gifted magician could have many uses for such. It was paranoia but that did not matter. Therefore the God of Magic had attempted to cleanse the bedding via magic – alas it had failed, proving that the virginal blood of the Vanir woman was too powerful for a cleaning spell to overcome.

The only option that he had been left with – was to destroy the bedding. The evidence had to be eradicated along with the holder of it – since it could not be removed while leaving the material unharmed. And so he had burnt it, everything – the sheets, the coverlet and even the pillowcases. However, despite the potential danger in doing so, the God of spell-craft had taken a swab from that innocent-yet-accusing stain. Such could be used to do a lot of _bad_ things to his girl, but it could also be used to her gain – which was exactly the reason why he had done it (of course he was not even planning on mentioning that to her).

He had placed those several flakes of dried blood into a vial and filled it with ordinary, filtered water. There had been no need for other, magic-laced solvents – there was no need to dilute the ‘potion’, it was a strong concentrate, an essence – which would not be stripped away of its power.

The glass container had been placed in the lowers of his bedchamber, in a box within boxes – a stronghold of ‘keeps’, sometime later it had been joined by that lock of the Goddess’s hair. If someone were to try and remove anything from the heavily magic-laced box – any attempts prone to actually succeeding would only trigger the obliteration of the contents. There would be no dust left to gather, no ashes which could still be used in a spell or a brew.

When the Master Magician had stored the vial he had noted the odd coldness of the glass (he had assumed that it was that), but thought nothing of it. The low temperature lied within the liquid and not its container. If he would have known what to expect he would have noticed the difference (but he had never made such – so he had not been aware of how a ‘potion’ like this should be), the liquid within should have turned red – however it had turned into a deep, deep violet. All of these differences were created by the fact that exactly in that spot he had taken the sample from – his seed, his essence had also been present.

The God did not know exactly what – but he was planning on using that liquid into making something very powerful for his love, something that would respond only to her will. But due to the fact that both of their essences were present – whatever spell or enchantment would be made – it would fall to the command of both, it would be connected to both of the young Sorcerers.

He inwardly shook his head from those thoughts, he had more important matters to attend to. The New Year’s celebration would soon begin and they could not afford being late. Alas the Lady liked taking her time in preparing and she needed to get to it now. But the Godling did have a theory concerning her reluctance, if it was correct – then he understood the sentiment behind her reasoning. She would be leaving soon, she would not wait until Jul’s Epiphany because it would be easier for her to slip away undetected while the winter festivities were still ongoing. Perhaps this leisure-disguised delaying was her way of denying reality.

The male approached the bed and leaned on one of the bedposts. He knew that she was aware of his presence, although her stormy orbs had not been raised to acknowledge him.

“You need to get ready, Sigyn”

“Hmmm” she hummed without lifting her eyes away from the book “Why?”

Her saying that was nearly mocking – for they both knew why she had to begin preparing for the feast.

“Because you like taking your time, my vain little creature” he explained patiently, referring to her in an adoring manner.

“Not as much as you like watching me dress” she sing-songed back at him, with a playful tone present in her words.

“Touché”

The Lie God moved closer to the girl-woman, but did not sit down on the bed. He outstretched his arm, offering her a hand to aid her getting up from her relaxed position on the mattress.

“Now, do get up. We will need to be at the hall soon”

With a dejected sigh she shut the book and took his offered hand. Once she was standing he left her to retrieve another one of his gifts from one of the wardrobes present in the bedroom. He laid out a gown on the bed, this time less nervous about her reaction to his meddling concerning his choosing her wardrobe for the evening.

She stood at the foot of the bed, looking at the garment that laid on it, but she was not taking it into her hands yet. Her idling made his brow crease and he approached her from behind, wrapping his hands around her waist.

“Is something the matter?” the God of Mischief inquired. It was a silly thing to be worried about, however he was still anxious about her answer.

The evening gown was in no way too different (in color or level of risqué) to any other that she had worn prior. It was long and the fabric was of a shiny ultraviolet – a color he thought that she liked. It had a very deep neckline, there were no straps of any kind, rounded shapes of well-made material were to cover her breasts – but it was made to push them up and reveal a lot of her cleavage; the cut was not extremely low and would not go anywhere near her navel. The back of the wearer would be completely bare, the sides would be also uncovered. The bottom half of the dress did not have slits, but rather consisted of two long pieces of fabric that would go from hipbone down – showing of a lot more leg than probably all of the Aesir women would dare. It was a form-fitting piece of clothing. And he really did not know why she was not putting it on – he had thought that she would like it.

The Vanir shook her head, alas the Prince was still unconvinced.

“You do not have to wear it, if you do not like it” he assured her (or maybe it was more correct to say that he was assuring himself). He had taken to kissing her neck, peppering it with a large amount of kisses (also more for the reason of distracting himself than her).

“I want you to enchant it”

Her response confused him.

“Why? What is wrong with it?” the gown was made to sit well, it was not going to slip away from her body – so he really did not understand what spell she wanted the God of Lies to use.

“Nothing, it’s beautiful. I don’t know any enchantments that would change the color and keep it that way for the duration of the celebration, don’t think I can muster enough concentration to upkeep one”

Her wish to change the color of the fabric was puzzling, but it was not something that he could not or was unwilling to do.

“Then it shall be done. What color do you want it to be?”

“Green” came her curt reply.

The way his form tensed was swiftly hidden, although he did not know whether she had not noticed it – their bodies were touching after all.

“But, love, if you were to come to the celebration dressed in such – people would assume--”

The Princess did not allow him to finish the sentence.

“I am well aware of that, lover. I want it _green_. I don’t care what anyone thinks – they think that I am an _object_ of yours anyway. Me wearing the color they consider to be yours – may strengthen that, however me wearing something different will not eradicate their belief” she turned around in his embrace, his hold did not allow her to step away (not that she had tried or wanted to), and continued speaking “And besides, have we not allowed them to think that we _lust_ for each other?” her voice sounded very mischievous as she said that. “If they assume our ‘marriage’ to be one to consist only of _fucking_ , well then it will not go against that belief of theirs if they think the color of my dress to be a sign of your possessiveness over your fuck toy”

He did not look into her eyes as he agreed, the words sounding defeated.

“Very well”

The petite female began nibbling on his jaw, she had to be on her tip-toes for that because he stood at his full height. She told him in-between her nips.

“Don’t be so sulky, Loki. Those. were just. words. They mean nothing” she finished breathlessly, feeling that she had pleasantly tortured his jaw enough. Afterwards she pulled him down into a kiss – to which he did not stall to respond.

* * *

 

The two royals made their way through a side corridor, which was empty. The sounds of the Heir’s boots and the Goddess’s high-heels were being quickly drown out by the loud chattering and music of the soon-to-begin feast. They were both covered in the finest of garments, dominated by green, black and gold. He wore just the tiniest bit of the highly valuable metal, while Sigyn was covered in numerous jewelry (not his gifts though) – but they were not forged out of gold. This was the same metal he had seen her wear the very first time they had met – the gold-not-really-gold now had a name in his mind. It was a rare one to be crafted – probably because it was not really precious. Mostly such could be greeted in Midgard, where the Midgardians called it Nordic Gold. Despite the name the alloy had no gold in it, its components mostly consisted of copper.

They walked arm in arm and she turned to smile at him. Her eyes were heavily painted in black and green, she appeared cat-eyed – and the orbs themselves, her irises were mischievously green (not something anyone was going to notice – everyone would simply be enchanted by the young woman herself, the different color of her eyes would remain undetected). He returned her grin. Her hair was left unbound and he wished to thread his fingers through it, but he resisted the urge to do so.

* * *

 

The celebration progressed well. The young royal couple sat once more far away from the Aesir Rulers and their table, in the circle of the Golden Prince and his friends. Their table was the same one as in the previous feasts – one near an exit, just beside a wall of the grand hall. There were no chairs but benches – probably on Thor’s whim (not that Loki or anyone of their warrior friends disagreed), they had not been placed there on the order of the firstborn Heir – they appeared because Gladsheim _accommodated_. Their table was not the only one with benches instead of chairs – perhaps an individual or individuals had willed them to be so consciously or perhaps it had been done unconsciously – but it was really not a thing to bother mulling over. These changes were born from the nature of the Golden Palace – it had the ability to create slight alterations to the layout of the fortress and its furnishing; just in the same way the food and beverages did not lessen – being transported from the kitchens without the aid of servants.

There was loud chatter and laughter, and music, and dancing – the overall mood was just as enjoyable as it had been on Julaften. The green-garbed Lady laughed at something her (bonded) companion had said. Chalices filled with capsicumel – a type of mead spiced with chili peppers, which had quite the kick, were in the hands of both of the younglings. They were conversing with one another and with those sitting closest (the Storm God, the Warriors Three and not so much with Lady Sif). While they may have just been interacting with each other – both were still listening to the conversations amongst the circle.

The lovers registered the warrior woman addressing the God of Thunder.

“More great mead, Thor?” she inquired while holding a rather large amphora in her hands, offering to fill the man’s empty horn – which had been filled with great mead – an ordinary mead but aged for a very long time.

Said God did not even turn to look at her and did not even spare a word – he simply shook his head while laughing at a tale Volstagg was telling. The motion was easy to interpret incorrectly – for it wasn’t even clear whether it had been directed at the Asgardian Goddess, and if it was, well then it was a rather impolite brushoff. Sif’s expression darkened and she set down the golden amphora with unnecessary force, although the sheer volume of the feast almost completely overshadowed the loud clunk as the beverage container hit the table.

The Trickster God noticed how one of his Goddess’s eyebrows quirked as she observed that ‘display’ over the rim of her goblet. Her puzzlement was understandable, it seemed as though his brother was purposely ignoring the female who sat beside him. However the younger knew that his elder sibling was indeed not doing so on purpose. The Thunder God would never do something like that intentionally – he was simply a lot more relaxed with etiquette than most were.

This was not the first time this evening the older had ‘ignored’ the warrioress – both he and his Vanir lover had noticed that. The Aesir Lady wore a potent frown on her face as she distractedly and angrily stared off somewhere at the end of the hall – her expression was not promising anything good. The girl-woman leaned to her beloved and they exchanged quiet words, hiding behind alcohol filled chalices as those were lingering by their lips.

“This happen often?” she asked.

“What? Do you mean how Thor interacts with Sif?”

“Mhm” she replied taking a sip.

“Then – not rarely. My brother is not interested”

“I can see that. Well, Sif is”

“And that is not at all a good thing” he stated.

“I can see your point. She’s already near enough, I hope Thor’s ignorance of her stays”

“It shall” the Trickster said confidently.

After a pause she continued.

“He’s been doing that all evening”

“And he is doing so unintentionally” she turned to see him more fully and raised an eyebrow at that, looking completely unconvinced, therefore he assured her of the truth in his words “Believe me, he is”

“She looks close to snapping” the girl noted.

“She is” the young God said, sounding as though he was noting something as trivial as the weather, and took a gulp of his spicy mead.

“And we’re not concerned because...?”

“What is there to be concerned about?” he asked.

“Well, I am not saying that something will happen to us or anything--”

He interjected.

“Did not think that you were”

“--But if there’s going to be drama – I don’t want to be anywhere near it” she continued her explanation.

“There will not be, trust me” the God of Deceit assured her.

“If you say so” the half-blood female uttered and returned to her drink and the food in her plate.

The warrior woman left not long after that. But no one cared enough to inquire where she went, so she had simply stomped away. However the conspiring-like whispers between the married Godlings did not die down.

“Think she’s wearing red for Thor?” Sigyn asked her love, referring to the conservative but form-fitting, red gown Sif wore.

“That is very much possible”

“That’s silly”

“While I could redirect that statement to you--” he smirked at her and then continued “--Seeing as you are wearing _green_ (by your own choice), but I do know what you mean and I do agree” he said.

She changed the subject slightly, idly noting.

“Although it’s not to say that red is Thor’s color, compared to how religiously you adorn yours”

He did not say anything to that, but her words did tug his lips upwards.

“I have noticed that Thor has worn his cape to every celebration” she said after a slight pause.

The God of Trickery snorted – that was an understatement, if he had ever heard one.

“Not just the bloody cape, his gauntlets too and frequently almost his full armor. As though war will be unleashed at any moment” he said disapprovingly.

“Would that not be the case of the pot calling the kettle black?” the young Goddess looked at him playfully, as though she had caught his hypocrisy. “Aren’t you always wearing the same as you would to battle?”

“Ah, Sigyn, you insult me” the young man feigned a hurt tone. “You perfectly well know that to be untrue”

“Do I?” she questioned just as playfully as before.

He set to explain, trying his best to remain playfully informative and to not show that she was indeed ruffling his feathers.

“Yes, you do. You know where the difference between me and Thor lies – I am a sorcerer, he is not. I need no special clothes to aid me, my magic is always with me. And anyway, if a threat would need something different – be sure that I would dress accordingly. Besides, you do know that I too have a cape, which I am not wearing – hence my point, nor do I have my helmet on. And... to be honest, those get in the way more than they can possibly aid”

His last sentence made her frown in confusion, a minute passed – he allowed her the time to ponder it over.

“Well, I can understand why a cape can get in the way, someone could tug or step on it – basically use it to get closer and harm the wearer. However I don’t see how a helmet is not a good thing”

“Really.” the magician said, his tone indicative of him thinking this to be an entirely obvious thing. “The helmet has _horns_ ”

“Point not taken” she threw back, sounding unconvinced and still as not understanding as before.

“Sigyn, such large protrusions from a helmet detract from it very, very much. For example a lasso can be used to knock the helmet off or bring the wearer down... But that is all irrelevant because, as you say, I am the God of Magic – such techniques used against me are futile. And besides, if a cape or a helmet would prove to be hindering – I can easily will them away, such details of my garb are enchanted exactly for that reason” the Master of spell-craft elaborated.

“So they’re just for show”

“I did _have_ to choose such a thing” he grumbled quietly, quieter than the overall volume of their whispers. But she had heard it anyway and smiled slightly – though he did not see her reaction.

“Well, anyway, the horned helmet does look good on you” she commended.

“Some would disagree with you on that, my brother for one has called me a _cow_ , pretty rich from someone with _feathers_ on theirs” the male said, although his tone was not playful – it was not spiteful either.

“A cow?” she repeated disbelievingly and he did not say anything because she seemed to be saying that more to herself than to him. The Vanir appeared to be pondering this for a minute, looking away and absentmindedly drumming her fingers on the table. When she spoke once more she sounded contemplative “More like goat”

The Godling chocked on his spiced mead.

“A-a goat? I am not sure whether that is not further diminishing” he noted.

“Of course not” she sounded indignant(!), “A cattle is a tamed animal, while I was thinking more on the lines of a wild mountain goat – some of them have similar horns to those on your helmet”

“That is not much of a stretch though” he uttered, still disliking the comparison.

She rolled her eyes at that and voiced her thoughts a dozen of seconds later.

“Well, if that doesn’t suit you, then I have seen aurochs pictured in books – ones that had horns reminiscent of _yours_. If you do not find the comparison of goat-horns to be accurate, then perhaps taurus ones shall be better”

He only smirked in reply, taking pleasure in her well-hidden vexed state.

Soon after the exchange the couple decided to abandon the hall in lieu for the festivities that were taking place outside. But before they left the two had a promise extracted from them by the firstborn Prince that they would meet up later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jul terms – if you’ve forgotten any of the terms, you can find them in the bottom author’s notes of the 28th chapter.
> 
> Loki’s helmet – I just had to, lol, I just had to. The banter between Thor and Loki about the helmets is not a conjuration of my own mind, for there is a deleted scene from the first Thor movie about that. Also since this is a fic about Norse gods I thought it appropriate to also give a nod to the myth of the horned Viking helmets. The Vikings had never worn those iconic horned helmets because they would be anything but practical and would give the enemy quite the advantage. However the God of Mischief is a bloody diva, so he’s allowed to wear armor just for decorative purposes.
> 
> Nurse, he’s out of bed again! Seriously Loki what are you doing, srsly, srsly Loki shtap. Loki quit being a creep, you creeper. What the hell are you doing, are you planning on cloning Sigyn or what? Stop with your creepiness ಠ_ಠ


	35. Feasting. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may be a part of this chapter that is controversial(!), if you find it so – then the bottom author’s notes are a must to read afterwards. For my choices on writing it so are explained there.
> 
> There is also a slight mix of POVs between the usual Loki/Sigyn narrative with that of random children, it should be well discernable. It shouldn’t be confusing, for our main characters there are referred to as ‘pretty lady’ and similar – obviously not my usual way of calling the godlings.

**Chapter thirty-five**

**_Feasting_ ** **. Part II**

 

 

The duo of Gods walked quickly but leisurely, arm in arm through a slightly dim, lesser used corridor. They were in no hurry, therefore their path had been chosen accordingly. The sounds of the feast were quieting swiftly due to the distance they were putting with their quick pace, the two themselves were not quiet though – their tones and laughter were not hushed.

The God of Mischief could not care less where they were to spend the rest of the evening – he was in a good mood and nothing in either of the places held more appeal to him. However there was a difference to the Princess, he knew that she loved the outdoors and that the celebration that was happening there was more to her liking (it was less formal, the scenery had the slightest similarity to what could have taken place in Vanaheim and there would be more common-folk mingling there, amongst other things she favored) – so, her suggestion was neither surprising nor was there any actual reason for him to disagree with it.

The Lie God’s spirits though darkened, when his lovely companion’s step slowed. He knew that his summary as to why that was so was correct and that the likelihood of her curiosity getting the better of her was high. She had been pleasantly distracted (as probably he had been too, but his ability to detect something off was excellent and any slower response, which was caused by the good mood, was much shorter than hers) with their chattering and jolly marching to notice the presence of something (or to be more precise two somebodies) sooner. The God of Lies tried to ignore her slowing by continuing to walk at the same pace, consequentially tugging her with him, acting as though everything was the same. Alas his attempts born from goodwill were thwarted as the girl-woman halted.

“Can you feel that?” she asked, sounding mystified.

“Yes, I can. Now, do come along” he responded and his words were not curt, his silver tongue was doing its best and it had succeeded in making his words and tone sound completely inconspicuous (not even a hint of exasperation was detectable). He went on to continue walking, however she did not do so, and due to their arms being linked – he was forced to abort the continuation of his marching.

“What is that?” the female inquired (although more to herself than to him – for he was certain that she felt the presence of a person).

“Nothing out of the ordinary” the Dark Prince answered, allowing a _different_ kind of annoyance to seep into his words (the faux was necessary to be exactly of this type, for the one he truly felt would have betrayed his reluctance – which would only pique her interest) – as though she was venturing into the lands of paranoia and he was slightly irked by that.

“I know that” she said bitingly, her gaze though was turned behind them, looking in the general direction of the presences, even as she continued speaking (although now her tone was lighter, more curious than angry) “I can feel that one of the presences is familiar, can’t say the same for the other one though”

He was too busy thinking up a way to distract her, therefore he did not answer her unasked question.

“Odd. They aren’t moving” the Vanir Lady remarked. “What are they doing here?”

“Is that important?” the exasperated man asked.

She avoided his question and offered an observation instead.

“You are acting as though you know something and are not willing to tell me”

He forcefully exhaled through his nose, feeling that he had to answer that one – and it was not entirety easy to go around it (because it was her and he was loathe to lie to her). While she waited for his response, the woman disentangled her arm from his.

“Yes, I have a good idea who that is and why that person is here. But I do mean it – that is unimportant to us”

“Well, I quite gathered that it is unconnected to us, thank you very much”

The Heir ignored her sarcasm and said (but not mockingly or dryly).

“Correct”

“I’m just curious” she said lightly.

“I understand that, but it is not worth your attention. Really, it is not.” the end of it was pressed out with difficulty, he just wanted to get Sigyn outside.

“I get that, nonetheless I’ll check it out” she told him of her decision with an oblivious smirk.

“I would not recommend that”

“What, do you think I’ll be noticed?” the amateur (or amateurish) Sorceress questioned, sounding playfully insulted.

She was already turning on her heel when he muttered, not really knowing whether she heard it or not.

“That is not what I meant”

He watched as she turned and made her way to the direction of the two presences. He did not try to stop her – for he knew that it did not matter what he would say since she was too stubborn to listen.

The Goddess left the broody Mischief behind. Her reason of going to inspect this was maybe different from what he had summarized, though his thoughts didn’t really matter for she was not going to be gone for long. She was pretty good at feeling the presence of another person, however to tell _who_ it was she had to know that being well. It was obvious that neither of those energy patterns befell that category, she was only familiar with one – and not enough to tell who it was. Therefore she was interested to find that out. Also she was not aware whether her beloved even knew who those people were, either way he had not specified – so the only way to find out was to see for herself.

The girl headed for a secluded part of the corridor, which was dimmer mainly because of the row of grand columns that stood there. She warped the palace to her whim, although it was not too necessary because using the architecture – hiding behind a column – could suffice to leave her own presence unnoticed. Still she was not taking any chances.

The closer she got the better she felt that energy – though it remained as elusive when it came to discerning who it belonged to. She hid behind a column, willing the area to slightly turn so that she would be able to freely see what lied at the end row of these huge pillars. The corridor complied with her wish and she was given sight, but she knew that she was not going to be witnessed by the two people (and if they would have altered the dome themselves most possibly she would not have been able to get a look at all).

What the Lady saw made her stomach churn and her face scrunch up into a grimace. However her objective was reached, though she would have liked not to have seen this. She did not waste her time and did not stay there for more than a few seconds. When she left her post she did not bother to will the corridor to hide her and she did not care that her stomping, the loud sound that her falling high-heels created, was well audible. She did not care if she were to be noticed.

She found out her previous assessment to be true – one of those Asgardians was truly familiar to her, the other – not at all. She was sure that her man knew well that one presence, which she had found familiar, so he could have said something – then again she now understood his careful phrasing.

There was no mistaking the red gown, the dark hair or the golden hair ornaments – that she had briefly witnessed. It was Sif. The Aesir female she had seen – was on her knees in front of a man, one who the Vanir did not know. She had not stayed long enough to see anything vividly, but it was clear enough what was going on – and the swift movements of the warrior-woman’s head in front of that male’s crotch was a dead giveaway.

Though she had looked for just a moment she had still noticed quite a lot (definitely not a thing she had wanted to do). The man that Sif was sucking off had his hands dutifully pressed against the niche he was leaning into (and, ugh, he had his head tilted backwards and was even moaning), although she would have expected them to be wound in the hair of the kneeling female. Though it made sense – the Asgardian Lady would not wish to get her hair disheveled, and she had picked a man who was probably intimidated enough by her (or simply did not care what additional requirements there were as long as he would get his cock in the warrioress’s mouth) to do as he was told.

She found Loki where she had left him. The slightly frantic words he uttered upon seeing her were puzzling.

“Now, that was not my fault!” he said urgently, trying to rid himself of the blame; her face was marred by a terrible scowl and he did not wish her anger to befall him. While waiting for her he had realized that he should have clearly warned her of what she would see – so that she would not have had to witness something distasteful. His habit of putting words into sugar-cotton had tripped him terribly.

Sigyn’s frown morphed into an expression of shock, her eyebrows rose high and her eyes widened. What he was saying was his classical Lie God repertoire, when he was guilty but wanted to direct the blame elsewhere.

“Y-you cannot mean that you did something to--”

He quickly interjected, trying to shirk the accusation – for he was innocent of what his words had faultily made her think.

“No! No, of course I had nothing to do with that. Love, you know me. I would never put a spell on someone to do something like _that_ ” and the God of Deceit meant that, no matter how much he disliked Sif – he would never make her fornicate with someone. Additionally, forcing that woman to do something would be very difficult, the dark arts of controlling someone were not easy to do (even to a Master Magician). Of course there were other ways to do so, like for example casting an illusion over a person so that he or she would look like someone else. However they would have to act that part, it would require their cooperation – and without that the ‘victim’ (in this scenario – the warrior Goddess) was unlikely to fall for it.

He continued to explain.

“What I meant was – I am not to blame that you had seen that and--”

The girl-woman waved her hand once – a dismissive gesture, and so he shut up. She was not even looking at him, though she returned to scowling it appeared that it was not exactly because of what he had said before – she did not seem angry with him. After a moment she spoke.

“So you knew what was going on? You can read that off of an energy pattern?” she asked, her frown was unrelenting though.

“No, but I knew that it was Sif and that she was with someone else”

“So, you didn’t know that she was sucking the cock of some bloody bloke?”

Her swear-ridden inquiry did not make the impression on him that such usually did, it was not the kind of phrasing he would have liked to hear when taking into consideration his quite imaginative imagination (he did **not** want that image in his head).

“No, I had not known that. I had assumed something along those lines”

“Why? If you cannot feel something like that, why were you so certain that it would be the case?” it was obvious that she was confused by his previously shown certainty (judging by how he had tried to prevent her from inspected the two presences).

“Well” the God of Trickery forcefully exhaled – he did not want to have this conversation “I had seen what you have before. And the rest, I guess, was just simply me assuming the... worst(?)” he said, ending his sentence in a somewhat questioning note.

The Vanir female wove her arm around his and he almost instantly bent it at the elbow – resuming their previous arm in arm contact. Both continued walking, while she simultaneously to taking his arm and beginning to walk – voiced a question.

“When had that happened?”

“I cannot say for certain, it was definitely a long time ago... more than a few decades ago” he replied.

“How and where?” she asked, quite sternly.

And despite her knitted eyebrows she was still asking him about it, _oh joy_. Though he was not surprised that she did, his lover did have a penchant for bullying information out of him – the kind that he did not wish to give her.

“It had happened in some corridor of the palace. I had just been walking through them, and as I often do, was moving in the shadows – when I saw Sif with some man... doing exactly what you had seen” he glanced at the Princess and her inquisitively raised eyebrow told him that he should continue (or else she will make him tell her – and he knew that one way or another in the end he always conceded). “The scenario was the same”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it had also been during a feast – I do not remember what celebration it was. I think, she had left under the same circumstances as she had today – because Thor was not responding to her... attentions. Sif was probably upset that my brother was for too engrossed in the two females that sat nearly in his lap”

“So you’ve seen that once?” she asked, sounding appalled at the idea of seeing such more times.

“Yes. Though having lived in Gladsheim and having the habit of getting from one place to another through shadows and mirrors had made me witness similar scenarios during feasts quite a few times. It is not to say that this happens extremely frequently, but it would be wrong to say that it rarely does”

The young woman’s delicate physiognomy scrunched up as she realized the perversity of some of the Aesir.

“I think that... letting out frustration like that could be Sif’s habit. She often leaves when Thor is not paying her the kind of attention she craves” he said, and although neither of the younglings found this theme of conversation even the least bit interesting – it seemed ‘clingy’. Perhaps she talked about it because it was shocking (she had never seen anyone fornicate in public or in private for that matter) and he simply talked because he was talkative, even when the subject was not to his tastes.

“Alright, let’s say that I get that part. But why, why if Thor’s ignoring makes her so horny in a frustrated, angry way – then why does she not get pleasure for herself, why does she pleasure another person?”

“I do not know... Maybe Sif fantasizes that she is pleasuring Thor. Norns, that is so **wrong** , he is my brother” the Trickster God mused and then seeing images in his mind that were extremely, unspeakably nauseating used his free hand to cover his eyes (though that wasn’t helping much, seeing as it was a mental conjuring and not a physical phenomenon).

Sigyn looked at her love sympathetically, that must have been something he had never wanted to see, neither in his imagination nor in reality. Almost against her will she continued speaking.

“Perhaps she does that because it’s less... messy” her words had the wanted effect and he removed his hand from his face, and his psyche had been directed elsewhere even if just by a bit.

“Perhaps” he agreed “Whenever she would return from her detours, I had never seen any signs on her that would indicate that she had been with someone, that she had had intercourse. And I had noticed such even in people who are keen on hiding that kind of details, like Fandral. But not in Sif’s case: her hair’s never disheveled, her clothes are without any new wrinkles and the like – I had not noticed anything of the sort. And whether I like it or not – I am observant enough, so I would notice”

She nodded to herself. After a few minutes she spoke again – what she had seen was simply too strange and too bewildering (in a negative way) to get over so quickly.

“But still, why for fuck’s sake would anyone ever do something like that in a fucking corridor?! I mean any passerby could see it! And Sif doesn’t strike me as the sort of person who wouldn’t mind being seen with her mouth around someone’s cock, much less everyone knowing that. The palace is huge! There are tons of places where being caught would be highly unlikely and a lot of chambers are unlocked as well. And if any horny twats are that desperate then there are thousands of closets they could use!” she ranted.

“I do not know why – it is unfathomable, and most importantly – I do not want to know”

“That was so disgusting. I want that image out of my head” she lamented mournfully and snuggled into his upper-arm.

The boy-prince disentangled his arm from hers and instead brought it around her form. He kissed the crown of his Goddess’s head.

“Let’s go outside. This is taking too long” he whispered.

She nodded lightly and at their whim at the end of the grand hallway a door leading outside manifested itself from a window. The couple hastened their pace to get there faster, leaving the dim corridor behind.

The outside was decorated marvelously. A great deal of the palace’s grounds was decked in beautiful ornaments. The vista was much to Sigyn’s liking, unlike the interior of Gladsheim, which was overbearingly full of gold and most halls and corridors were additionally decorated with staggering amounts of ornaments. Having lived in the Golden Palace for so long, Loki had already developed the ability to not notice the monstrous grandeur – so, it was not an issue to him.

The decorations that were strung up outside were not the same ones as there were on Julaften, those had not incorporated lights in them. Many of the trees and the scarcely-leaved shrubbery had various lights hung on them, which made the frosted branches shine beautifully. A good portion of the lights were made out of traditional materials – some with fire and lit gas, others were simply highly reflective and did not emanate light on their own. However a small portion of those lights were different – those were the ones the God of Mischief had liked since childhood, for they were enchanted with magic. Of course now these little miracles did not awe the Master of spell-craft as they had before, but if he just took the time to appreciate them – he was not completely apathetic to these little feats of magic yet. There was an array of those enchanted lights, they were the only ones that were not static in their color – they constantly shifted from one hue to another, and some were quite ethereal – such that did not have any casings (no ordinary glass or colored glass baubles and the like), just had various color-changing shapes reappear seemingly out of thin air.

He really had loved them where he had been small. He had liked them so much that his mother had even given him some of the enchanted lights to hang up in his chambers (although he hadn’t directly asked for them, but Frigga was always good in reading his subtly expressed emotions and requests). When the young man had been a child, staying up in his dark rooms well after his bedtime – those lights had always kept him company. It was probably all those little things, all those small uses of magic he had witnessed that had inspired him to study spells and enchanting. The Queen had been the one to notice him reading books and practicing on his own, so she had become his tutor. She had not taught him for long, the second-born Prince was naturally gifted so he learned very quickly (even things she hadn’t taught, the things he had only seen her display – and that had been enough for him). And aside from the High Goddess – he had not had any tutors, he was self-taught – something he took great pride in (underneath it all, that pride stemmed from the fact that he had mastered something that everyone so frowned upon (except for his mother) and underestimated, but despite all the efforts to direct him to the ‘right’ paths – he held to his own and prevailed).

Of course now those silly lights were not hanged in any of his chambers, though he had not gotten rid of them. The envy-green God still had them tucked away in some wardrobe. He was not sentimental and mostly collected and hoarded only useful things (or things that could be useful in the future). Still if him keeping that childhood memento meant anything – then it meant that he still had at least that much capacity for sentimentality.

The twelfth hour had passed a while ago, meaning that the old year had already shimmered away into the past and that the new one had embraced Realm Eternal. Though there weren’t and would not be any explosive sky-salutations, that did not mean that a light-show was absent. The dark heavens were constantly lit up by silent displays of multicolored lights – those were imported from Svartalfheim, crafted by the Dwarves – part explosive minerals, part Dvergar enchantment (the latter being responsible for the movement and the lack of roaring sounds each time a display went off). The salutations came in various shapes: some ethereal and reminiscent of swirling nebulae or galaxies; others were depictions of various creatures, such as: butterflies, fireflies, Will-o’-Wisps, dragons, boars, rodents, serpents, stallions, birds, wolves, lions, aurochs, rams, various decapods and pisces, of course there were also very important characters – the hunters (archers, swordsmen and etc.). All those depictions were animated and attracted many marvelers.

The lively music, the chatter and the laughter was loud. Just to the side of the space cleared for dancing and opposite the orchestra was a huge bonfire. There were a quite a few tables that housed drinks and light food. But there were no chairs or benches beside the tables. Though there were smaller tables and benches – but those were a sizable distances away from the aforementioned ones, for they were not meant for eating. The sitting places were meant for the elderly and were also used by those who had been momentarily exhausted by the dancing.

A great portion of the people present were commoners and lesser nobles, there were fewer of the Asgardians that occupied higher positions – who had left the indoors celebrations for reasons only known to them. There were also many children running merrily about, allowed to stay well past their bedtimes on Nyttar. Each and every one of the younglings was dressed in costumes, as were the preadolescents and the adolescents – though none of the adults had such garb on. They were dressed as various beasts or hunters – for the tradition of Julebukk. Some of these younglings (those who were of lesser birth) had definitely taken part in Julebukking – going to their neighbors and asking for sweets or exchanging songs, rhymes and whatnot for confections.

The way the children were dressed was so in order to celebrate the Wild Hunt. A type of hunt their King used to assemble, when Odin used to lead hunting parties through the skies, ridding on his sky-treading steed Sleipnir – but that was a fable or more accurately an embellishment to reality. It was true that the steed of the God of Wisdom could gallop through the heaven, but no other steed could. So the Aesir Ruler had never hunted from above, when he was more keen on participating in such – he rode, just like every other hunter, on the ground. Though there were more connections to what was told about the Wild Hunt to what had taken place in Midgard (Midgardians even had similar traditions – to honor the High God). Point being – was that the Allfather had never hunted in that world. The sky-treading part of the stories was an allusion to the Bifrost – and of course the great Leader had never travelled to any realm with mere hunters. The God of Deceit remembered being in Midgard when he had been very, very young (his reason of being brought there was part of his and Thor’s lessons on _ruling_ and what came with the position of being a Guardian of the Nine Realms) – he and his father had arrived with a small delegation, but it was quickly joined by more men. The Rainbow Bridge had not been used (not at that time nor at any other) to connect the Cosmos in order to hold some sort of grand hunt, no, who travelled through it were _warriors_. What these children were truly commemorating was not a hunt – but _war_.

The very first thing the Princess wanted to do did not catch him by surprise – she wanted to dance. She wasted no time in dragging the God of Lies by his wrist to the large group of dancing figures. The rhythm of the song was lively and not at all of Asgardian origin, it reminded him of the ones he’d heard in Svartalfheim (which being the center of all and everything one could ever want to acquire – was a heavily multi-cultured place). It was much to the woman’s liking.

He matched her serpentine movements with ease, perhaps that was a natural flexibility he had or perhaps it was a learnt thing – for his fighting style (that of a trickster’s) very much depended on it. They did not shy away from dancing flush against one another, moving like snakes – and very much in sync. They varied from swaying with her back pressed into his front or facing each other. Neither cared if their movements appeared to the onlookers as inappropriate or suggestive. This was something that they could afford to do without any concealing, whatever perversities the Aesir would conjure – they could only do so because they were _allowed_ to. The royal pair consciously allowed the fact that they were not averse to being this close to one another in public seep through in the heat of the dance.

The girl had commended the Godling the first time they had danced that he _felt_ the beat. And he knew that she was not referring to the music itself, her wondrous Vanir mind meant something else. And though he did not know what that was – he could not say that she was entirely wrong. He was not carefully studying her definite-structure lacking movements, he was not mimicking them – he was simply moving as he wanted to move. Yes, he was mindful of her dancing and he matched it, but even so it was only a subconscious attempt – therefore, at least partially, it was not false to claim that he ‘felt’ the same beat that she did.

They coiled and swayed about one another for more than several hours. They took no breaks in their dancing and when the Godlings decided to stop it was not because they had tired of it. In all actuality driving a God to pure exhaustion was not something a few hours could manage. Even if it were hard physical labor and even if a certain individual was utterly unused to it – it still remained true. Pure exhaustion would creep after several days, therefore what the Aesir referred to as tiredness was simply more of a habitual thing, a luxury they could afford – for it was more in the mental sense than in a physical one.

The couple headed for one of the drink tables, which hoarded by all sorts of beverages. When Asgard celebrated, Asgard celebrated – nothing was in shortage, everything was in excess. If a beverage or a food was popular – then one could be sure that it would be found in Realm Eternal at time of a grand festivity.

They had already looked through the ale table, but found that they were not in the mood for it. Though the choices were simply dizzying – that was true. There was brown ale – with its mild amount of hops and a subtle nutty flavor; pale ale – sometimes referred in Midgard as _bier_ ; young and mild and aged ale; golden ale; barley wine; apple ale – and so much more. They ranged from bitter to slightly sweet – however held no current appeal to the two young Gods.

Both had decided on mead – which is not to say that there was little variety there. So picking which one to fill their goblets with was not an easy choice. There was white mead – a beverage that actually had the color which was plainly said in its very name, but Sigyn wrinkled her nose at the fact that one of the dye ingredients were egg whites (though the Lie God could testify the deliciousness of the drink, he did not bother to try and convince her to change her baseless opinion). Some of the meads were short meads and some were great meads – however the time of their keeping was not an indicator for their choices. He was more interested in some spicy sorts or bitter ones; he was considering dinking capsicumel again or maybe trying oxymel – which, aside from honey, had wine vinegar used in its making. The girl-woman was less scattered in her choices and was currently overlooking melomels – meads that had berries or fruit in them, or any other sweet mead. And there was an astounding array of variations of the honey-based beverages, there were ones with: maple syrup, caramel and even burnt caramel, apples, raspberries, blackberries, elderberries, black currant, ginger, vanilla, mulberries, rose, rosehip, citrus – and that was just a short list, there were oh so many more!

After idling for a dozen of minutes, both had finally made their picks. He had chosen white mead (just to annoy his lovely companion) and she had finally picked a mead made with burnt honey and had been flavored with burnt caramel – the name of which was bochet.

The pair mingled amongst the crowds with drinks in hand. And when the chalices were empty, they walked with second drinks. The celebrating of the New Year was much more colorful than that of Julaften, it was a dance of myriads of colors and a multitude of sounds, and all went well with the music in the background. The excess flashing brightness of the sky-displays and the strung-up lights – both that burned and reflected, combined with the number of people and the sounds they made – turned it all into a busy spectacle. The Vanir Goddess liked it and the Dark Prince, due to her company, found that he really didn’t mind the crowded place.

In the midst of the moving guests little groups of children ran about merrily. The youngest of the feast-goers were breaking the Julebukk tradition (if for the fact that they had not done enough of visitation or if for the fact that they had not done it at all – no one knew and it was irrelevant anyway) – instead of going to their neighbors, the children were pestering the adults gathered. It was most possibly not for the treats (though that was what they were asking for), but more for the fun of the asking itself. There was a whole table full of confections, desserts of all kinds – all of the tables had fire runes etched in them, so that the light frost would not freeze any food or beverages, some plates had those runes as well – that the dish itself would not only stay at room temperature but that it would be hot (similar fire runes could also be found within the Vanir female’s dress – they were keeping her warm; however such were unneeded by the Throne Heir – the cold had never bothered him anyway).

It was not long before a group of the young ones joyfully approached the royal couple as well. They probably wouldn’t have if they had known just who they were approaching (the children were very young and from the material their costumes were fashioned of – it was safe to say that these were the offspring of peasants or the lowest of the tier of noblemen). They cornered the two young adults with fervent cries of ‘treat! treat!’, repeating that dozens of times.

By the quirk of the boy-prince’s lips it was safe to say that he was amused by this, though even if he wanted to (and he really didn’t care) he could not have made their wish of sweets come true – for neither of the Gods had such with them. And he chose to tell so to the annoying and cheerful askers.

“We do not have any treats” he raised his hand and pointed at the confections table “But you can find some there”

The cries quieted and the tiny kids obediently followed the direction the man pointed at with their eyes. Though soon those sparkling orbs returned to the two green-garbed people, different cries rose to volume undeterred.

“Trick! Trick! Trick! Trick! Trick! Trick! Trick! Trick!” they repeated without stopping.

He was about to say something, but his lover intervened, disallowing his silver tongue to be heard. The little ‘beasties’ (as she called them in her mind for their outfits – and perhaps their a tad irritating demands) silenced the moment they heard the pretty Lady speak.

“Well you’re in luck then! This is the Trickster God!” she announced with slightly faux exuberance.

The eyes of the children then immediately went to observe the male and a rather melodious ‘ _uuuuh_ ’-ing sound of amazement tore through. But their wonderment did not last and again they began to request a ‘trick! trick!’.

The young woman shifted her gaze from the bubbly, bouncing kids to the Trickster. He met her eyes and both pairs were shining in green mischief, and the God of Mischief knew that his love would not oppose a good, little trick. For was he not the infamous Prankster God indeed? Oh and both knew that this trick would be a little different than what the demand for was.

The beasties let out another wave of awed cooing as green energy, like lethargic smoke, began to coil about the gracefully moving hands of the Prince. As slowly as the energy appeared to be moving it formed something rather quickly. A large green serpent was there where the smoke had meandered about his hands. This called for a call of distress from the children, while the Vanir released a loud (slightly dark) laugh. Her mirth had kept the young ones at bay, only several had run away. Though every single one of those who had stayed had stepped away from the Trickster, but the Lady’s laugh confused them.

Then she did something they hadn’t expected! The Lady reached out her hand and allowed the snake to crawl up her arm, all the while looking very happy and smiley. This was very, very confusing – the man that had made the serpent was smirking and the Lady was not scared of the slithery thing, not scared at all!

A brave and rowdy child that stood at the back of the group (or perhaps he was just braver for his prudent position – behind all the others) asked the two strange grownups.

“Is it real?”

“As real as you believe it to be” the Vanir gave a rather vague answer, but she did not leave the babes entirely lost “It’s magic”

They ‘ _uuuuh_ ’-ed again at the very mention of magic. She continued speaking while she handed the snake back to its conjurer.

“Why didn’t you know?” she asked the children in a playful tone “That the Trickster God is also the God of Magic!”

That really had the beasties going and they were bouncing again from excitement, while making all sorts of highly entertained sounds. But their reactions were not the only ones the Princess had gotten, her words had garnered a rolling of eyes from the Master Sorcerer himself – directed at her of course.

From that small crowd a child inquired something, to which all of the kids agreed (agreeing in various ways, breaking their rather adorable synchronic demands into a cacophony of sounds).

“Can we touch it?” he asked eagerly.

Once again the Trickster stayed silent and the Lady (perhaps the Trickster’s Lady?) replied for him.

“Of course”

At those words the dark-haired God kneeled and the children approached him, some ran the few steps to him, others walked closer very apprehensively. But despite how they approached the Magician – each and every child wanted to pet the big, green snake! Because it was a very pretty snake and it was magic!

In the end the little ones were very pleased at having encountered the Trickster God, the God of Magic! The beasties had managed to pester out of the Master Sorcerer a few harmless sparkling spells. And with that they merrily ran away from the God and the Goddess.

Both watched the costumed kids move on to play elsewhere. Sigyn hooked her arm around Loki’s as she asked him.

“Will they be able to burn anything down with those?”

“No, though in clever hands – that would be enough to set something on fire. Why? Would you like them to set something on fire?” he asked, not knowing whether she would respond in agreement or disagreement.

“Maybe” she said very playfully. “But they’re too little for mischief”

“Once can never be too young for mischief” the God of Mischief remarked, sounding rather proud of that.

“True, true” she chuckled. “However only if one knows what they’re doing, those little beasties don’t seem too keen on setting anything on fire or causing any truly mischievous goodness” her words were grinning and the God of Trickery actually grinned.

“And is there someone who knows what they are doing and who is not too young?” he inquired amused and did not dare to break eye contact with his bewitching, mischievous, little minx.

“Oh I may know someone--” the girl trailed off as though she were in thought, but finished the sentence quickly and with a sunshine smile “--Us”

The Master Magician laughed, when he composed himself he asked her something, however a conspirational smirk he could not wipe off.

“Do you want to set something on fire, Sigyn?”

“ _Yessss_ ” she answered with a snake’s hiss and then laughed at the naughtiness of it all, while the spasms of muffled laughter made her body writhe in his embrace.

* * *

 

And so the outdoor celebration progressed. For the two enamored younglings there was dancing, quite a few drinks, occasional snacks, conversations and mischief. It was perhaps because of the number of people present that no more children had come to pester them, for both were sure that they were quite the catch when it came to giving attention to ‘attention deprived’ little beasties.

It was a few hours later that they had met up with Thor and his company, Sif was there too. The young Prince couldn’t give a damn about the warrior woman’s presence, however if he would have seen what his beloved had – it was certain that a powerful scowl would have reigned on his face, without any intention of leaving. The word displeasure wouldn’t have matched what he would have felt for having been forced to witness something that unsightly. And really, he could be blamed for lurking in shadows and mirrors, but he could not be for seeing things happening in dark, public corners – where they shouldn’t have been in the first place. Although he was indifferent, it was a bit more difficult for the girl-woman – she pointedly ignored the dark brunette, as though that female’s presence was not even there. If Lady Sif had noticed how she was treated, then she wasn’t showing any signs (which, more likely, indicated that she didn’t realize that something was different).

Talking with drinks in hand while standing idly did not keep the group entertained for long. Therefore one of the few tables and the surrounding benches were swiftly ‘borrowed’ for their needs – the idea put to motion by none other than the Master Magician’s power. The outdoor furniture was transported via spells further away from the dancing and the epicenters of the crowds. The table hadn’t been occupied before they took possession of it, it seemed that there weren’t a lot of elderly Asgardians using them at this day (night). Though the God of Deceit could not be bothered to care even if it would have been otherwise, his elder brother did not care either. And for all of the Thunder God’s goodwill and care, well, it was quite absent when said deity was inebriated. Were he sober, he would not have taken a seat meant for the elderly, even if there would be none of said elderly in sight.

At first their heptagon band drank graded beverages and enjoyed delicious foods, however later a deck of cards had made its appearance and all were involved in games after that. The card game they played was the same and there was no need for another because this one was quite entertaining. It was not entirely based on the falling of cards, therefore clever minds were frequently enough to win the game.

There was no clear winner in the sum of the games played, several were in the lead. The ones struggling at the bottom were Thor and Volstagg, not necessarily because of bad luck or poor logic, but more because of the lack of patience and distractedness – on the firstborn Prince’s side – and the gutsy warrior’s inability to sever his intimate ties with the food he devoured (Volstagg liked food and food liked Volstagg). Sif and Fandral were somewhere a bit above in the point area, though the warrior Goddess had skipped quite a few games (the ones she had played went moderately well for her) in lieu of simply watching, so she truly had no reason to complain about losses. It was entirely plausible that the dark-haired female was interested in catching any cheaters (and that translated into: Loki), but the idea was worthy snorting at – if the second-born Heir would be cheating he would have definitely done so in a way that would be undetectable – he was the bloody Trickster God after all!

And for the leading trio, well – it was for the best that they were simply playing cards without betting anything. Because boy, would the bottom listers be in big trouble! Though it was not to say that they hadn’t ever played on bets, for they had, however monetary betting was not their sport. No, the Princes, the Warriors Three and Lady Sif – whenever they dealt cards while betting on the outcome, they always dealt with ‘dares’, ‘truths’ and similar nonsense. The God of Lies could testify that all of the said warriors were sore losers, for he won often (and his winnings were mischievous and utterly humiliating, much to the dismay of the losers) and when he did lose – well, if it were a truth required – then it was often considered that he was lying (even if more often than not he was saying the truth, but the fact remained like stone engraved – that sweet lies were better than the bitter truth).

Viciously fighting for the first place, constantly wavering from second to first and back again, were Loki and... Sigyn. Not very far behind them was Hogun, who, unlike the others, could be bothered to think through and plan ahead – so he was not an easy adversary to overcome in the battlefield of cards. The Trickster’s high position was not surprising at all, he was a good strategist – so he had no trouble manipulating his hand of cards in a way that would be most beneficial to him.

The Vanir Princess’s winning though was very odd and surprising for everyone except her lover. It was true that she did not spend much time thinking before she threw out her cards, seemingly having no more patience than the oldest child of the Allfather, but her choices were almost always highly successful. Coincidence was not something the God of spell-craft believed him, and in this case he was utterly positive that he knew the solving key of this mystery. Consciously or not, but it was without a doubt that the young woman was using her gift (of which no one, excluding the two green-clad Gods, knew). So it was the reason why the God of Trickery and every other player was having trouble keeping up with the Goddess of Victory, the Goddess of Luck, the Victory Bringer. Going against luck alone with only cold logic and calculation in your arsenal was proving to be a battle not easily won.

It was most possibly the last game that they were playing, but counting the overall score was unnecessary – seeing as no matter what hands everyone else had – the runaway winner would be one of the two leading players. Sif had skipped this game, as she had done with a few previously, so she lost by default because of her insufficient overall score.

Volstagg was the first to reveal his hand – and it was too meek to win this game and the game itself. Thor was second, throwing down his pathetic hand and laughing quite merrily at it – it seemed that losing at cards did not bother him overmuch. Then was Hogun – a steady hand and his was within seconds joined by Fandral’s on the table, the latter’s hand was superior though it could only win this last game and not in total.

A slight tension lingered between the two remaining Godlings and neither appeared to be in a rush to end the game. The youngest Heir observed his opponent, the Vanir was confident and smirking (and she had been like that all this time – no matter if her hand was capable or incapable of winning), idly twirling a strand of hair around her finger and she was using the cards in her other hand as a mockery of a fan. Her assuredness did not matter though, for the Trickster God would win it all. So it was irrelevant if he was to uncover his hand first and so he allowed her that small victory by conceding.

His cards were splayed on the table elegantly, garnering a whistle from his older sibling. Oh yes, that’s right – it was very impressive indeed, and crown him King for he was the winner after all! The cards revealed to be an impeccable line, both his favorite cards – spades, and in his favorite order. Though the order itself was slightly incorrect (just as he liked it), the ace of spades was the first (as it was by power), but the second was not the king but the queen, the king was third, and all others after that went accordingly to potency of power. Well hey, he was the God of Chaos – it should be expected that he would not like the lawful order (yes, even when it considered something as trifle as cards).

The dark-haired man’s eyes went to his love – she did not seem surprised, not at all! Perhaps she had expected it, and somehow her believing that he’d win – pleased him. She placed down her cards last, a mysterious half-smile playing on her features. The God of Thunder laughed, the God of Mischief was not pleased. What he saw was a line of cards, placed in the correct order – all hearts. Hearts against his spades – neither superior nor weaker. And so it was settled (not settled at all, not even by the tiniest bit) – this game had no winner and the overall score said the same. It was a _draw_. He did not know why he disliked it so, it was not like he was opposed to losing to her – yet finishing equally simply irked him. And so the draw was declared to be the end of the game.

Soon the female fighter decided to brood somewhere else (no one bothered to inquire where, all knew that if she would wish to return – she would). There were still several bottles of ale on the table, but apparently they were no longer interesting as the redhead warrior decided that something stronger was in need – since it was so bloody cold here. Lies, it wasn’t cold – he just wanted a drink, and the Master Sorcerer would know since he had enchanted this ordinary table, creating a circle of warmth about it. But he said nothing concerning that, he really did not give a damn about the man’s phrasing.

Fandral agreed to take up the task – and soon other requests burst forth (or in other words, it was the eldest Prince asking for some mead and snacks as well). But the two envy-green Gods knew the male’s other motivators – such as a lonely, young blond idling by the drink table. The girl had been shooting glances Fandral’s way for about a half-hour now, and Fandral would not be Fandral if he were not to oblige a Lady – he would offer her company if only for a quick flirt or one dance. So that was where he had fucked off to, the God of Deceit winced internally – that was faulty wording on his part, for it was highly likely that that was exactly what the warrior was going to be doing very soon.

The couple though did not wait for the return of their missing ‘party’ members, they chose to go dancing instead. Somewhere in that heady dancing the Heir noticed and realized something he had missed prior. What his observing skills fleetingly caught had been also present outside on the night of Julaften. The gazes that their pair attracted were different (an emotion he had rarely saw others direct at him), they were not solely formed of vicious glares, scorn and whatever else that nobility often sent their way. Though this difference was easily explainable – there were far more commoners here at the celebration that took place outside. And a lot of those Asgardians knew very little of the ‘trick marriage’ and the bride of the second-born Odinson. Though he doubted that anyone was unfamiliar with his infamous reputation, the presence of the ‘Goddess of Fidelity and Bonds’ made the attention-from-a-distance much lighter. Sure, there were still disapproving looks garnered, but a good portion was made entirely out of curious, interest-ridden glances. Well, they were a novelty after all. The fact that (unlike the court’s people) the commoners held him to be dangerous and unpredictable – did not seem to matter today.

The young man found this outside-of-his-realm type of attention disquieting, yet he couldn’t say that he did not like it (he was quite apathetic to others when his mind was almost completely focused on his woman, though his subconscious still spun ideas and contemplations like the most hardworking of spinners). This was... different, but he was good with dealing with different. Asgard’s opinion of him had long since become irrelevant to him (even if he was vexed sometimes when they would get it _all wrong_ ), however that did not mean that he was utterly apathetic to what others thought of him. When he did not shut out the glances and whispers, then he _loved_ all the negativity thrown his way, he soaked it up like a sponge. It all played for his devious delightedness, he enjoyed it all, every emotion – ranging from disapproval to envy and even loathing.

He would have liked to claim that liking such negativity when it was directed at him was an integral part of his character – and he did claim so inwardly, though his subconscious was in the way. His psyche was that of a survivor’s, but not only that – he was a survivor that aimed to _thrive_. Thriving would not be possible if everything one did would only consist of enough to get by, and it would not work if one would care about what everyone thought – especially when the whole world seemed to have hated you from the day you were born. That word – hatred – was too strong (at least in some cases), but the sentiment was the same – he was well disliked from his early days. Apparently to get the moniker of a despicable mischievous trickster – one did not really need to try hard. He had a knack for getting into trouble even when he was a babe. And it did not matter that when he was very, very little he was rarely the one to cause the actual trouble, but he was always the scapegoat. Always the one to explain everything to the adults and get Thor and his brother’s friends out of punishment or reprimand. Though his silver tongue always succeeded in getting said children out of the figurative hole they had dug for themselves (aside from the times when evidence of their presence remained – then he would be pegged to be the little, cowardly liar), but the fact that he was the one doing the talking incriminated him more than anything else could. Therefore in reality, he hadn’t loved all the negative things people associated with him – he had _learned_ to love it, so that he could move on and thrive.

Sigyn’s lips on his own distracted him from his musings. The God of Lies responded to the kiss with equal interest and spun his giggling lover.

* * *

 

About an hour of dancing later the young couple returned to the table. There were no more card games and their group tended to sometimes wonder away. In the addition to the ‘original table members’ – ‘sit-bys’ and ‘stand-bys’ were joining in, and the God of Trickery was not fond this. These ‘acquaintances’ were all warriors, in one way or another familiar with at least one of them. With drinks and/or snacks in hand they were conversing merrily. The young God was not pleased, but his mood was far too good to be jeopardized by this development.

The girl-woman, who sat by his side, was incredibly talkative. He did not mind that, although he himself was not as outgoing since this ‘pestering’ began. The Vanir female charmed everyone who had just joined in – no matter how curt was their stay around the table. She spoke confidently and boldly, alas there were a few times when the newcomers had taken her words in jest, saying with smiles that it was not a woman’s business or that it was something a woman would not know. Though everything that left her mouth was formed of fact, experience and strong, logical opinions – some people just couldn’t take that from a female. And in fear that the Victorious Goddess would actually call out the imbeciles for a dual (not something he would wager her incapable of doing) – he would interject and support her words. For really, she was quite the capable woman – but the idiots who dared to defy her word were still well-trained soldiers. He did not deny that there was a big chance that she could handle their drunken arses and give them what for one on one (she was a Sorceress after all) – he still did not want a confrontation to occur.

Apparently his sneer-y comments and snarled insults on lack of intellect thrown the way of those who dared to ridicule her words – were very effective. It was quite simple really, he said no different than what she said, but he was male – and therefore his words were given more consideration than hers. Because none of those warriors had been very thick – they could not deny the logic and sense of what was said (even if they needed to hear it from a man’s lips). But the Trickster God was not the only one who had come to the new Princess’s ‘defense’ (though Loki’s idea was not to completely shield his beloved, but to actually strengthen the truth of what she said, and a similar ‘defending’ notion led her other ‘defender’).

She had stated a well-defined and well-phrased fact about Svartalfheim and some half-hardened prick had dared to laugh in good humor (irrelevant, the mischievous God still wanted to rip him to pieces for it) that she wouldn’t know it unless she’d been there. The green garbed Godling was about to toss a whipping remark, but he was beaten to it by his older sibling. The Thunder God voiced his agreement to the Vanir’s stated fact, proving its validity to the man – and managing to shut the bloody soldier-boy up. Thor’s serious, yet not booming, tone (not threatening, or defensive – but that was unnecessary and such would have been out of place anyway) and absentminded nodding to her previous words – were enough to unintentionally shame the foolish male.

The younger Prince saw that his Goddess’s interest and smiles were more faux than usual (but they weren’t strained). However he was aware of the reason behind it, he had noticed the dirty looks that Lady Sif was shooting her way every now and then – and his love, the wondrous vixen that she was, enjoyed annoying the warrioress.

It was clear what irritated the brunette so much – the fact that Sigyn (a married woman!) could be so audacious, so talkative there where it involved men’s business, and so without a regard for what kind of picture of hers and her husband’s relationship she was indirectly painting (by talking without his permission) – that disgusted and angered Sif, she just couldn’t understand it. And the Lie God might’ve been flattered by the ‘concern’ over his image and the supposed status quo within his married life, if he would not have been Loki and Sigyn would not have been Sigyn, and especially if the ‘concerned party’ was not Sif. So he only smirked to himself, enjoying the discomfort _they_ (because where a ‘wife’ was concerned so was her ‘husband’ – that was the way Asgard worked) were causing to the warrior Goddess.

When the strings of ‘sit-bys’ and ‘stand-bys’ ceased, the hazel haired Vanir left her seat. No one inquired where she was going – for they rarely did, and if someone of this circle ever left permanently for the day they always said their goodbyes (with the exception of Sif and Loki – who consciously left without saying anything, and Fandral did so unintentionally when he got _really_ sidetracked by a ‘skirt’).

The second-born boy-prince had already summarized the most likely place she left for and so a decent time later he also rose from the table (and did not receive any questions as to where he was going). He left for the opposite direction (with the false intention of pretending to go for a drink – a thing he would have to grab on his way back, just to testify his ‘alibi’) and then went after her by magical means. The Magician had done so because he did not want to make the impression that they had left for a quick fuck, no matter that everyone at the table and further away from it were none the wiser to his leaving or were a bit too drunk to care and think hard on it.

He was loathe to have anyone think of him and her – naked and tangled (or not fully undressed – that would work too, or... bloody Norns, don’t think about it!). Aside from the fact that it was a private matter, there also remained the fact that whatever any more to the perverse side of thinking individuals would image – would be _utterly_ wrong. The true image of what love making between them looked like was not perverse or dirty, or any other synonym he would use to describe the imaginary of others. He knew for _fact_ – that it would look like _art_ , and no one could really fathom that. True, some could interpret love making quite innocently and without any unnecessary details or perversity – but that wouldn’t mean that they would grasp what was between the Godlings (not that he wanted anyone to grasp it).

This line of thinking had his mind conjuring a beautiful picture of their loving. This _art_ did not arouse him right now (not in a way anyone would understand arousal), but it still sent a pleasant shiver down his spine and a slight smirk played on his lips. Yes, what lovely art indeed.

Following through a crowd of people in the fastest way (which did not mean using the cover of the plant growth) was not something that did not require him to use magic, however he didn’t strain his power overmuch and instead opted to follow her with more distance and less use of magic. But when the Lady entered Gladsheim every shadow and mirror was fair game. He did not hide his presence (his energy signature), so if she felt him she made no indication of minding his shadowing.

The Sorcerer had correctly assumed her objective – she was heading for the washrooms (any other place would have surprised him for she did not have a reason to go anywhere else). And though he had known her destination he had still decided to follow her. An unpleasant confrontation between the Princess and some random person or someone she knew – was unlikely, even more so in the case of the latter. However if such a thing would occur, and he did not doubt that she could handle it perfectly on her own, it was not necessary to ruin her good spirits with a bothersome encounter. She could deal with one on her own that was true, but he was great at avoiding confrontations – not just because he lived inside and knew the Golden Palace well, but also because he was the God of Magic (amongst other things: like being the God of Mischief and Deceit – ruling elements that tended to get him into trouble often) – therefore he could easily aid her in choosing an empty path back to the celebration outdoors. But he had followed her not because he had wanted to ‘protect’ her or because he did not believe her capable of doing that on her own, it was most possibly because he simply liked watching her (and it would have been difficult to do without leaving his seat at the table, then whatever means he would have had employ to help him would’ve been noticed by others) – as odd as that was.

The half-blood woman’s trip to the lavatory was uneventful and she had not greeted anyone on her way there. Once she entered the area that was her destination, the Master of spell-craft did not follow her. He did move his sight to one of the mirrors there though and saw that the washroom was empty (or at least the first area was void of anyone and he did not feel anyone beyond there, but he hadn’t really stressed his field of awareness to be utterly sure – this was all pretty pointless anyway).

The Godling idled and waited, pondering on possible subjects of conversation to share with the female (maybe as means of distracting her from the fact that he had followed her) as well as suggestions on what to do – the idea of dancing sounded inviting. It took only a few minutes for her to emerge and she marched like a queen in the empty corridor. He was about to reveal himself and approach her when they both heard additional footsteps echoing. She did not slow and the only indication of her having noticed an incoming person was the fact that her eyes had strayed to the direction the sound was coming from. He almost dragged her into the shadows together with him, but thought better of it – she would not appreciate it if he would ‘save’ her from every bump heard in the silence. So he continued moving together with her, a few steps behind in the shadows.

The approaching presence revealed itself to be Lady Sif, neither of them thought this coincidence to be worthy of doing something differently. None of the three pair of steps (just two pairs audible) slowed down and it was to be expected that the two women were going to pass each other without stopping – only, that it didn’t happen.

The warrior Goddess came to a halt more than ten paces in front of the Vanir Goddess, and the said female also ceased her walking. She could have continued with her strut and passed the other (the corridor was large and wide – so it would have been no trouble), however just how the warrioress was standing – right in the middle of the path – felt as though she was intentionally blocking the way.

“Taking a stroll?” Sif asked, while not really asking.

“Yes. Is something the matter, Sif?” Sigyn inquired, her tone sounded oblivious and perhaps slightly to the mocking side – a response to the brunette’s nearly accusatory question.

Both the Prince and the Princess noticed how her lips twitched at the mention of her name (bared of a title – a clear reminder that she was speaking to someone of higher status than she).

“Yes, there is a problem” was her response.

“Oh? I was not aware of something being amiss” the Vanir said absentmindedly (only irking the other female more). “What is it?” she asked, though there was no note of interest evident in her tone.

“You are the problem”

The only response the hazel-haired girl offered was a humming sound, it testified the fact that she was not bothered by this in the slightest bit.

“Hmmm”

“Do you not think that you should review your behavior?” the soldier woman asked with strained patience, as if demanding the other to understand her unforgivable faults.

“Hmmm, no, no I don’t think so. I do not see anything worth correcting in my behavior. Care to elaborate?” the green dressed Lady spoke, her voice unwavering but fluctuating with a dreamy quality, which did not seem fitting where it concerning such a topic.

“I suggest you review that behavior of yours and find what is wrong with it, lest the impression that you are making turn out to be unsalvageable” Sif elaborated, her patience audibly cracking (and well, wasn’t Sigga a tough rock to break – the lurker thought amusedly). When no response, the kind that she was expecting to hear, was voiced – she continued “Think about what you do, how you act and speak... You talk too much” the last part was utterly unhelpful (because the female warrior was cloaking her voiced displeasure of the royal woman with stressed advices), for it could serve no aid to the one that it had been spoken to. She frowned to herself as she said her words (obviously disgusted by the memory of how much the girl spoke).

The shadowed one could feel the palpable tension rising between the two women as different as day and night. He had not expected this to escalate so – his Lady was dreamy and unapproachable (he could feel the delight that she felt for ‘innocently’ riling the warrioress so, it was an intentional doing – she knew exactly what her scarce words did to the other, it was a subtle mockery but a mockery nonetheless) and the Aesir Lady was getting angrier by the passing second.

Loki did not think that this could get ugly, it just couldn’t – and yet, he was not one hundred percent certain of that. Sif was clenching her fists and her tense features bespoke of nothing good. But he couldn’t believe that she would actually attack his lover, no matter how provoked she would get (he had to give her that – she was no fool). She would not dare to lay a hand on a royal (and that was exactly with whom she was dealing with), it was something almost comparable to _treason_ in Asgard (or at least it would be where it concerned the High Gods – the King and Queen; but the sentiment was the same nevertheless).

Even if there would be no consequences for it (and he was thinking of something in the realm of a slap – because truly, truly the dark-haired Goddess could not be as foolish as to actually physically assault a Princess of Realm Eternal), still it would be scandalous. Though there were no witnesses present in the empty hallway, but Lady Sif could not know whether Princess Sigyn would remain quiet about something like that (and the Trickster had a niggling feeling that the warrioress thought her to be a weak, sniveling coward – who would not care of the indignity and embarrassment that would befall her for telling everyone about her inability to protect herself) – so she couldn’t risk it.

And if such an unlikely scenario would actually happen, well than it would not proceed in any way that the Asgardian girl could anticipate. She did not know that she was confronting a Sorceress (and quite an impressive one at that). No matter how good Sif was on the battlefield – the sheer surprise of a counterattack and the use of magic would negate all her fighting skills. Plus, there was a certain somebody called Loki lurking in the shadows – though his presence (he was sure) would only remain one of observing. And really this would not go anywhere beyond the sphere of verbal lashings.

The Victorious Goddess’s reply was instantaneous, but the Trickster God noticed how a mischievously devious smirk ghosted on her lips – whatever she was going to say, it was going to be something worth hearing.

“It’s better to use your mouth to talk excessively than to suck cock. So let us stay with what each is so good at then” she said finishing with a downright malicious smile.

She did not wait for a response and walked past the stunned female, her walk was pride-ridden and radiating a thick aura of victory. It took a full minute for Sif to get out of her stupor and have the snide insult sink in. She turned on her heel with a snarl, only to see Sigyn’s straight back walking further away in a languid strut (and the hiding God had seen that his beloved had not even glanced back, offering her unguarded back – a clear testament that she did not find the warrioress a worthy opponent, nor was she frightened or cowed by the woman).

She was already quite away and it was obvious that this furious version of that crimson dressed female warrior was not capable of thinking up any witty insults or retorts to fling the retreating Princess’s way. Therefore Sif looked on for a few more seconds, her chest heaving with strong intakes of air and her hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, before she turned around and swiftly strode away.

And all the man in the shadows did was laugh internally, thinking to himself that one did not pick battles with a Victory Bringer – for victory against the victorious was futile. He left his hiding place already laughing out loud and he nearly collided into his Lady. She was not startled by his appearance (perhaps she had felt his presence since he had started following her or perhaps it was sometime later, though when she had noticed it did not matter) and simply grinned at him devilishly.

They had already been walking for several minutes when the male’s mirth died down, tough the smirks and smiles did not leave them.

“My, that was very impressive” he said.

“Why thank you” she responded and fell into a mock curtsy.

Still smirking mischievously he extended his hand.

“Care for a dance, my Lady?”

“I would love to” the young woman answered and her tone did not belie her joyous mood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light shows/displays (basically enchanted, silent fireworks) – some of their depictions are based on the twelve zodiac signs, the Chinese zodiac signs and the Wild Hunt.
> 
> Wild Hunt – is a myth found in both Northern as well as other European regions. Basically it is a huge mystical hunt, which is often depicted as one happening across the heavens.
> 
> Julebukk (Julebukking) – a tradition of Jul that can take place between Julaften and Nyttar or only on Nyttar. It is similar to the trick-or-treating tradition of Halloween – with children dressing up and going to neighboring houses for treats or exchanging songs and the likes for treats. Julebukk is a possible commemoration of/has relations to the mythical Wild Hunt.
> 
> Bier – I’ve chosen to mention the name as being used in Midgard for certain sorts of ale because from my scarce research the word is quite old and might’ve been used at that time. However I chose ‘bier’ over ‘beer’, since the latter sounds newer even if it might not be much older than the aforementioned. 
> 
> Beverage name/recipe inaccuracies – I am sorry if you’ve found any, as it is not a subject I am well versed in and my research was not very extensive (you should bloody well know that I like my insane amounts of pointless details).
> 
> Card game – the card game that the gods were playing was not based on any actual game, it was randomly thought up, which is why it is neither named nor the rules specified.
> 
> About the chapter – no, I don’t hate Sif, nor do I dislike her. This whole chapter was not a Sif bashing fest.   
> It is a frequent phenomenon in LokixSigyn fanfiction to make Sif a dislikable character or to put her against Loki and/or Sigyn. It is not too surprising knowing the canon dislike between Sif and Loki in the myths – however that was not the reason why I had chosen to write the chapter this way.  
> I just couldn’t imagine Sif liking this portrayal of Sigyn or the warrior goddess being enough of a laidback person to ignore the new princess and her disrespectful behavior. That was how the dislike between the two women was created. The tension grew and threatened to remain unresolved. But there was no certain way to solve it – for a physical confrontation was illogical and it was explained why in the chapter itself. Therefore a verbal lashing was the way to go – but nothing that I had thought up was sufficient enough to break the tension (or bring the dislike to new heights) – and that was how this scenario was born.  
> There was nothing wrong in what Sif did, per se, however due to certain circumstances it is not acceptable either. Public sex is often written in fanfiction (I even recall several with Loki and Sigyn fornicating in public) as something utterly fine and acceptable and there is no POV of those who see them – rarely is it otherwise. Frequently the one who sees that is a flustered, jealous maid – but I do not remember ever reading a fic where the reaction to seeing such is described fully or written as a negative one. But people differ from one another and so their reactions cannot be the same – and I do like exploring in fiction things that are rare or never written like that before. Not everyone will be alright with witnessing public sex – frankly, in real life a lot of people would be greatly displeased by seeing such. Therefore the reactions portrayed here are quite plausible.   
> As our own history tells us royalty and great wealth are often accompanied by perversity – this has been somewhat explored in the previous chapters (when Sigyn had met and listened in on the conversation of the noblewomen). But I have also wanted to touch the darker side more; loud-mouthed women are not really all that shocking, not as much as people having sex in corridors are.  
> It could have been a different character or one unrelated to the Thor/Norse mythology universes – and not Sif. However I think that it is pretty obvious why I had chosen her. She is young here and young individuals (especially inebriated ones) tend to make poor decisions. Plus the factor of hypocrisy seemed fitting – lady Sif is so against the breaking of traditions and being improper, but everything she herself stands for is against those said traditional duties of a woman. And really, an insult is so much better when it is based on a truth (and I really wanted Sigyn to say that to Sif – because this portrayal of the Vanir girl would definitely be the type of person to throw such a jab).
> 
> Well, I hope that my explanation had made my choices clearer. This was a long chapter and I hope that you’ve liked this read. I think that the coincidence of its posting date is just splendid (for when I had written it I hadn’t known that its posting would fall out just before the actual New Year) – matches well with the current festive season :) 
> 
> Thank you for reading and happy Nyttar!


	36. Leaving

**Chapter thirty-six**

**_Leaving_ **

 

 

It was only a matter of minutes, a couple of dances, until the two young Gods became lost to the music (one heard and one unheard, one existent and one inexistent, one melody outside and one inside). Their dancing matched the rhythms, but they always kept close – a step further away would mean perish.

Like that they danced for an indefinite time, until the masses thinned severely, though dawn was still hours away. And no one noticed how the gazes shared between the young couple changed, how their kisses morphed from being slightly for the show – to something so much more. Their novelty had worn off partially because of the lessening numbers and partially because of how much time they had spent like this, alcohol intake was to be blamed as well. However the younglings did not care and all the negative connotations that leaving during or after the celebration for the bedroom held – had been erased from their minds. This was simply different, this was what _had_ to happen. No words had to be exchanged between the Godlings, they both knew how this night was going to end.

No one saw the pair leave, and they may have left with the aid of magic or maybe not...

* * *

 

The entrance to the second-born Prince’s chambers was just a few paces away, though the Prince himself could not be bothered with passing through it now. His lips had found his love’s and that was all that mattered now. Not a single person was going to see this anyway, no matter that this was a corridor. This hallway leading to his haven was deep in a castoff wing of Gladsheim and it was warded by the God of Magic himself, so if anyone would attempt entering the long, winding corridor – he would sense it immediately.

The area was wide and dimly lit, full of arches and columns, which were so easy to lurk behind, and this fraction of the Golden dome was so often warped that it was almost utterly under the control of the Master Sorcerer. This place (the corridor leading to his rooms and the rooms themselves) was crooked and drenched in magic – and he would not have had it in any other way.

He pressed Sigyn’s back into the wall, hoisting her up and using his own physique’s proximity to hold her up. His mouth did not leave hers, tongues seemingly tying themselves into lovely bows and knots. One of his hands wandered to her inner thigh, caressing idly and making its confident way towards her core. A playfully malicious smirk danced on his features as he attacked her neck with languid and soft bites, his fingers were itching to delve into her inviting depths.

And the boy-prince was nearly there where he wanted to be, his spidery digits were already ghosting over the apex of her thighs. But no sooner than his touch graced that delicious place – the Goddess’s whole body instantly became tense and she even flinched. This unexpected occurrence got his attention immediately, dousing any lovely ideas (for the moment). The expression that he saw on her face was not one he wanted to see, _ever_. She did not look frightened (though the stretch was not all that big), but she appeared mightily alarmed. Not apprehensive and all glare-eyed as she sometimes was when he had maleficent plots (that centered her) in his head. A memory from the back of his mind was swift to present itself, he remembered that the girl had given him a similar look back _then_ in Vanaheim, when he had her all tied up against that tree. Though there was a difference between these two looks – at least the first one had a reason behind it, this one was a lot more baseless.

It took him a few seconds to grasp why exactly this (what he had been about to do) was wrong. But truly, even though he had the reason already splayed out in front of him like a hand in a card game, she really did not have to look at him like that (not that the look was specifically addressed to him). This was a corridor, a bleeding corridor (and his little alarmed lover did not seem to give a damn that this corridor was inaccessible, for he would know instantaneously if someone were to even head this way) – and that was the whole issue here.

He should have thought better before trapping her here, against this wall. Especially having in mind what she had seen this evening – debauching her against a wall in a hallway was not exactly the brightest thing to attempt. Maybe if she had not seen what she had, she would not have reacted this way – though whether that assumption was true or not – was irrelevant.

The God however did not make a big deal of this (she would appreciate that – he knew; him turning into a worried bastard would only somehow humiliate her in her own understanding). He grinned at her his signature grin, while his hand repositioned itself to simply holding her thigh. He then whispered into her ear.

“I shall find another wall to have you against then”

With that he moved away from the wall and her legs wound themselves around his waist, that would make it easier for him to carry her. And the God of Deceit found that that erroneous decision-making of his had troubled her more than he initially thought (not that he would dare remind her that later or do anything to indicate how clearly he saw it). The way the Vanir held him betrayed it (her features most possibly reflected it as well, however her face was hidden in the juncture of his neck and shoulder), she held onto him very tightly – but not at all in a passionate way – it revealed her need for (unspoken) reassurance.

It was not long before the God of Mischief had the Boundary Denying Goddess pressed into another wall, one in his bedchamber. And from the moment her back touched that wall her previous, unforgettable (but not in any good way) reaction was left in past forgotten. With wards climbing the doors of his quarters like shoots and vines of a magical beanstalk – barring the entrance completely, it seemed as though that reaction had not happened at all.

Her mouth was on his and her hands were making the simplest (or perhaps very complex) magic by slowly combing through his hair – and he loved every second of it. This time there was no negative to be found in her as one of his hands snaked its way across her thigh and closer to her clothed core. The Master   
Magician found her panties to be very much in the way, so he wove his magic around them and removed them from her person, while leaving her otherwise clothed. The female knew of the male’s intentions and did not protest in any way.

Two of his digits were pressed to the puckered flesh between her folds and this time the flinch she gave was not at all like the one before, it was one born from a jolt of pleasure – even if slightly overwhelming pleasure. He moved his fingers in a caress, not prodding or rubbing vigorously, and she was moving a tad into the sensation (she would probably have moved more if they would not have been pressed quite as flush against one another, with one of her legs hooked on his waist and the other bent but not coiling about him – allowing his hand access).

The young man pushed one finger into her depths, nearly hissing from the warmth that he felt and the small clench her insides gave at the intrusion. He caught the girl-woman’s lower lip between his teeth, sweetly torturing it. And she minded neither of his actions. One of her hands was still firmly holding (but not clutching) his shoulder and the other remained in his hair, tugging continuously. Minutes later he added a second finger and felt the consequential quake her stomach made as response to the slight stretching the added digit required for accommodation.

It took a while for him to push the Lady up to and over the clouds, and when the fall was finished – the clenching around his fingers slowly subsided to a dull throb. He had to put some more effort into holding her form as her hold on him had grown lax. When she was coherent (or coherent enough) the look and the languid kiss she gave him spoke tomes about envy-green sheets. No words were required for he understood her wishes and his mind was walking the same path as hers.

The Golden Throne Heir held the Princess tighter as he carried her to the bed. He placed his knee on the mattress as he slowly lowered her down. And he wanted to undress her and worship each inch of skin revealed – the way her flesh deserved to be worshipped – for she was a deity like no other. Alas he could not, though he was not desperate, neither anxious nor in a frenzy, and he did not even feel like taking things fast. However perhaps there was desperation, there was definitely something, something in the back of his conscious – lingering in his subconscious, something he could not reach and he did not try reaching. But whatever it was (and it was probably to blame) made him unwilling to relieve them both of clothing manually. And there was so much to remove: the dress, the shoes, the jewelry... not to mention his own clothing, which was ridden with buckles and hooks and all other kind of intricate little details.

But what was magic if not blessed? And the Sorcerer’s power laced itself around the clothes and footwear, and accessories that both of them wore. It coiled and coiled until all was entwined with magic. This spell he had already perfected and so it took little concentration to have everything appear in a designated place, neatly put and folded.

The silky cover against Loki’s lower back felt pleasant, but his woman beneath him felt innumerable times better. Her right leg stroked his affectionately and whatever other ideas he had in his mind were eradicated. It might have been better to please her body more before they joined, however that was not what they both wanted at this very moment.

With his mouth plastered to her perky breast he placed his hand on her lower abdomen and pressed his magic into her womb, making her temporarily barren. This particular spell was strong (he had taken to refining the one he had used before, just because he wanted to make sure that it would work without fail), one error would be enough (theoretically – as he had not practiced it on anyone else, therefore the exact consequences wrong use would have were not explicitly known to him) to make a uterus permanently barren. Though even if such a thing were to happen (highly unlikely for he was the God of spell-craft for a reason) he doubted that she would grieve such a thing as many other women would. She had told him several times that she did not want children and that did not sound like something she would change her mind about later (still, there was no reason to magically sterilize her when they could make sure that a pregnancy would not occur, without using any drastic enchantments), and he was not keen on children either. In his case heirs were not mandatory (as it was for his brother, the firstborn – who was going to be King, even if some would claim other possibilities to be present), therefore it depended on his wish to have children – he was not duty-bound to have them.

With the spell successfully enacted he wasted no time and pushed his length into her, and the flesh of her right breast (beyond which her heart was beating) absorbed his quiet groan. The girl’s body protested little to the slow intrusion, accepting and stretching at the rate it almost always did. That unexplainable connection flared to life, linking them beyond the physical aspect.

Minutes later when the female Vanir’s physique relaxed completely, he began moving. Initially he kept his pace so very, very slow – something they both often enjoyed throughout their lovemaking – however, this time his thrusts had gained a bit more speed to them. It wasn’t really slow but it was not fast either, it was languid loving.

Time passed and it had the lovers moving in perfect rhythm. He felt that she was close, the way her core tightened about him and the feelings she radiated were nothing if not telltale signs. The sweet agony of the ascent. Alas something was not as it always was, there was a certain restlessness, that had never been there prior. And the Godling knew that it was not a feeling that originated only from him, it was dual, it was strong and it was theirs. It was not as simple as their bodies craving completion, it was something else, something different. However in the midst of lovemaking every thought and sensation was the concentrated version of themselves, bared and purified of anything and everything that did not have any relation to the connection between them. This condensed state of everything left only single-mindedness, which disallowed him to assess that odd restlessness that they experienced. And even if he could have decoded it, that did not mean that he could’ve done something about such an ethereal thing – he could only alter physical aspects, not the metaphysical.

To eradicate that overbearing feeling from them he tried a different tactic (while before he had only continued with the monotone movement; and speeding it up would not have aided for he was certain that that was not from where the sensation had arisen). The man pulled out of Sigyn’s divine core slowly, unwilling to shock them both with a sudden disconnection. Although it did not go smoothly – her gasp was startled and mournful, and her fingernails bit into his shoulder blades deep enough to draw blood, his own response was a violent hiss and a full-body shudder. The connection did not sizzle away in a flash, it ebbed away in eternity-long seconds, manifesting itself in dull throbs of long past echoes. And when that swift (yet seemingly slow) moment passed, he felt indescribably hollow and empty, desperately needing to be filled up once more. He was aware (though he could not feel directly like when he did when he was _in_ her) that the young woman felt the same.

With haste only internal the God shifted to his side, bringing the Goddess together with him. Their skins were touching beneath the covers and he did not stall before molding their bodies again, and the connection returned in a blitz once more. Their loving had never been tried in this position before, it was new – and maybe, he thought, that it would be enough to be rid of that, whatever it was, heavy feeling. It was not as easy to move when they were lying on their sides like that, and she could not respond properly to his thrusts – only offering frequent arching of her back.

And soon, very soon he realized that this position neither vanquished that strange restlessness neither was it pleasurable (it was of course, but he was not bound to only physical pleasure). The Princess keened often in these past minutes and those sounds were born of dissatisfaction; their bond shared her mental discomfort with him – though his own mentality was not very comfortable with this either. It burned and strengthened – the movement lacked grace and satisfaction, and it was wrong, wrong because he could not see her face. The Trickster _needed_ to see her, needed to watch her; he could not bear this any longer.

He disconnected their physiques fast and uncaring, and the hasty separation that severed their connection – it was an unpleasantly jolting experience. A rather loud (compared to her overall volume during lovemaking), unhappy sound escaped the confines of her throat and her hand went to desperately claw at the pillows in demand for something steadying. He had to bite his cheek to keep any undignified sounds in check, which was not an easy feat.

The needy hands of the God of Trickery went to her back, caressing and calling her back to him. The Vanir responded to his soundless yearning and settled herself over him. He immediately sat up and kissed her. His fingers found her hair and hers also wound themselves into his ebony locks. Soon their connection was reestablished with ease and he rested himself back onto the bed.

She took the corner of the sheet and draped it over her torso, it almost looked like a dress. And really, the envy-green sheet around her was a marvelous sight, it was a lovely illusion of mystery, but he wanted to see her bare flesh. However he made no move to try and convince her to lower it.

She moved, her back arching from the sensation, and his eyes rolled into the back of his skull.

* * *

 

There were many highs, many falls that she experienced and he shared without following after her, as the hours trickled by. Though the speed changed not, having a very limited range – only hastened when her body requested it, something, something desperate-like remained deep down – but stronger or faster thrusts would not change it they knew. Both felt it, but this feeling lingered in the subconscious and was too vague to understand.

The desperation was born from a fact that the lovers knew (a fact that shouldn’t have mattered, but this time for some reason it did. And though they did not know, it would still come to visit them from time to time). It was something that had been pushed away from the forefronts of their minds, but it was not something that could have been eradicated completely.

Sigyn was going to leave soon, and each touch, kiss and sway was desperate – because deep down they knew that this was most likely the last time they were like this with one another. It was unknown when they’d see each other again – it could be weeks, months or years. And that should not have mattered for they _would_ see each other again, alas this time it did. Down in the abysses that were the backs of their psyches they were aware why that was so – they did not like that their meetings depended on someone or something aside from themselves. The fact that they would separate was alright, but that their meetings and separations were not to depend on their whims – was not.

The Lie God’s hands were beneath the sheets, clutching her hips, his fingernails driving into her pale skin. Their breathing was heavy, the thrusting forceful but not swift. Her core was clenching around his length, stronger and stronger. Her back seemed to snap like a string wound too tight as she fell. And this fall he could not weather, the movements of his body were no longer his to control as he joined the fall from the high. The Prince barely even heard the Princess’s loud gasp, which was inspired by his cold release into her blazing depths.

As their climax was ebbing away, her whole body sunk onto his. He brought his arms around her and found it harder to open his eyes each time he blinked. Their breaths began easing, slumber was threatening to claim both of the younglings – neither was fighting it. He was not planning on moving his exhausted beloved from him, he wanted to remain like this – with her form draped over him and his flaccid length still inside her. Before falling asleep he still had enough mind to draw the cover higher, wanting to make sure that his love’s back would not get chill.

* * *

 

The Lady woke slowly, but it was a wide-eyed wakefulness. She was still in the position she had fallen asleep in and she felt the calm breathing of her lover beneath her. She realized that they were still connected _physically_. At the very best she had gotten two hours of sleep, but it was fully possible that it was less than a half-hour of slumber. A bone-deep weariness had her tightly in its grasp, however her mind was too awake to be able to return back to sleep. So despite her body’s protest, she left the warm and inviting bed.

The girl-woman had to bite her lower lip to contain the hiss crafted by the huge discomfort that raising her form and letting Loki’s soft length slip from her evoked. She had been in this position for too long. She carefully disentangled her physique from his, mindful as not to wake him. The moment her feet were firmly planted on the carpeted ground she brought the cover all the way to the collarbone of the God of Deceit. It seemed like the appropriate thing to do, even if there was little point to do so – he would not have gotten cold with the sheet resting just above his navel or even if the sheet would not have been present at all. She was slightly startled by the deep, nasal sound of complaint that left him, though she quickly realized that he had not wakened. He moved to nearly desperately clutch one of the pillows and he encased it in the strong hold of his arms, the girl reckoned that it was means of compensation for the loss of her body.

She turned away and headed for the chair beside the vanity. On the piece of furniture rested a robe, she wasted no time in putting it on. When her love was too lazy to get dressed he often wore it over his undergarments, she had worn the piece of clothing as well. It was a night-robe of somewhat transparent black fabric, there were flowers depicted on it – with red roses dominating. It was a strange thing to have for a man, however the female knew that originally the robe hadn’t been his. It had been his mother’s and he had ‘failed’ to return it to her.

Sigyn tied the robe loosely around her naked form and made a large stride to the heavily draped window, only for her body to strongly protest the reckless movement. Her hand instantly went to rest against the wall as she doubled over, her other hand lightly splayed itself over her core, through which a hurting throb had violently went and it was receding slowly. She had definitely spent too long in that position or she hadn’t slept it off (for she had wakened too early and still in the same pose as when she had fallen asleep). It took a minute or so for that unpleasant feeling to go away and afterwards she approached the window (this time taking more measured steps).

She was about to move the drapes a little so that she could see the view outside, but stopped her hand as she conjured a different idea. It was fully plausible that the Dark Prince’s chambers were just like the rest of the Bright Home, that they too could be altered by whim combined with knowledge. So the young Sorceress tried to will the windows to shift and incorporate a glass door in themselves, and a balcony to be formed beyond. Her lips quirked into a smirk, even before she saw it she knew that she had succeeded.

The Vanir woman walked through the door, into the winter air. The balcony was moderately sized and looked as though it had been part of the architecture from the very beginning. It was very cold but she did not feel it much, the wind was light – though it made the temperature seem even lower than it was. She approached the balustrade and placed her hands on it.

The dawn was still fresh, it was an early winter morning. The heavens were clouded and gray, no rays of sunshine were passing through like shimmering javelins. It seemed fitting – the dreariness, she was not feeling quite sunshine-jolly anyway. Furthermore, the heavy blankets of clouds reminded her of Vanaheim, although the clouds in her heim-land were always lower and denser, and darker, never of such a shiny grey (and why did everything had to shine in Realm Eternal?). Her eyes briefly passed through the empty grounds below, however they did not hold her interest for long so her gaze returned to the bleak horizon.

She thought about a great deal of things while looking away into the distance, uncaring for how her flesh had long since turned to gooseflesh and how the capricious winds caressed her. But every thought found a way to turn back to the God of Chaos and their current predicament – she was going to have to leave soon.

It was a fact – she couldn’t stay, didn’t want to stay in fact. This dose of Asgard had been enough for her and her eternally wandering spirit could not be kept in one place for long. He would disagree, saying that she could stay longer, just a bit longer – but she could not. Even if just a day or two, or more – it would change nothing – she wanted out, she couldn’t help herself.

The Goddess would love for her God to come with her, alas he would not. He had his duties and he would only come for her when they would grow lax enough for him to shirk them. A person who’d understand little of this could make the argument that she could stay in Realm Eternal for as long as she wished, for the Prince was the one who could not leave when and for how long he wanted – but thus would only prove that that someone would know nothing of them.

It did not matter how long it would take – months or years, but it was certain that Real Eternal would see how different and ‘wretched’ their relationship was. And then, then it would do its best to alter that – neither of the Godlings wanted that to happen. To remain living here – without huge conflict – a change would be necessary to make, but the Vanir Princess refused to change something that was _perfect_. Her refusal would land them into trouble quickly. It would be irrelevant what reassurances the God of Lies would make, for in the end, even his silver tongue would tire – after the backlash for him would become too great to ignore. There was no point for her to willingly enter a _golden_ cage and to force her most precious person into suffering.

And it really was wretched, but it was not their relationship that was that – it was Asgard. Asgard that did not appreciate the second-born Heir as he deserved (and the time she had spent with him here, during this grand winter celebration, only strengthened this truth into an unbreakable constant). The Trickster God barely even noticed the unfairness of it all, he barely paid it any mind – so used to it he was. That angered her, it made her want to simply bind him and ferry him away into another realm, lock him up to never see the light of the Bright Home again. Alas, he would never be content with that, Realm Eternal ran unbelievably strong in his veins. He denied, ignored and continued on as if everything was as it was supposed to be, holding this ‘golden world’ above everything, even above her. She did not hate him for that, for it could be said that she also held her selfish wish to wander above him in her heart, and which was more unfair, which was worse – no one could say.

* * *

When Sigyn left the balcony and willed it back into nothingness, she had already decided. And it was not the bitter cold that had pushed her back into the warm bedchamber of her beloved, even if she was near freezing (but not shivering; victory! Even if a small one at that). She was going to leave today (as she had planned yesterday), but she would not wait for the God of Mischief to wake. She spared a glance the peacefully sleeping male’s way and with that turned back to pack her bags.

It would be easier to slip away while everyone was asleep anyway (and it was _definitely_ not largely because she did not wish to say goodbye to Loki).

* * *

 

Feeling reality creep back to his senses the boy-prince did not rush to open his eyes. He arched and stretched groggily, feeling satisfied with the almost inaudible crack that his back gave. A frown came to mar his beautiful features as he was overcome with a sensation that something was not right. Despite his sleepiness he came to find what was amiss – his warm, gorgeous babe was not pressed to his side.

He stifled a yawn and outstretched his arm in search for her soft flesh, but he failed to find it. It only took a moment for the cogs in his mind to turn and for him to calculate that he was indeed searching for her in the right direction, and so he opened his eyes to see why she was out of his reach. Alas the Godling’s green orbs found only an empty side of the bed. Confusion and more frowns followed as he sat up, the cover falling into his lap. He glanced about the room but found no trace of her. He outstretched his hands as much as he could and brought them along the mattress, seeking to find any remnants of her warmth, however the bed proved to be cold.

It was odd and he rubbed his neck absentmindedly, contemplating why the girl had risen so early (and hadn’t woken him). He looked at the larger, empty portion of the huge bed again – and this time his gaze found something that was not supposed to be there. A folded piece of paper rested innocently on the pillow and as soon as he laid his eyes on it – he took it with the intention of reading its contents (hoping to find something that would explain this strange lack of warmth beside him).

The note was simple and it made sense, and he nearly crushed it in his hands and burnt it with cold, green flames. It was not because of what was written (oh Norns forbid, never that!), but because of the damn note. He wanted it gone ( _he didn’t_ ). The God of Magic would have to get rid of it (incriminating things that were written there and all that), however he could always do that _later_.

He fell back into his pillows. He clutched the accursed piece of paper to his chest and even brought a cold pillow to hold as well. It did not smell like her, but if he stressed his shapeshifting abilities just a bit – he could catch the faintest whiff of her scent on the bedding.

And now the young man would never have to wonder what it was like to wake up alone and naked in his bed. It was a feeling he _absolutely_ did **_not_ ** like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very late for the two week schedule that Prophecies had. I cannot promise that it will be reestablished soon, for now I haven’t got enough pre-written material and I do not know whether I’ll have enough time to write as much as I had before.  
> The situation is similar with Whims of Ice as well. Neither story is going on hiatus, but their updates may take longer to arrive.  
> On a different note, if you’re interested, I have drawn Sigyn as she would appear in the very first chapters of this story. I am not a very good artist, so it isn’t something phenomenal. Still if you wish to look at it, here is the link http://zzsnowwhitequeenzz.deviantart.com/art/Sigyn-from-Prophecies-513055957


	37. Coronation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time skip ahead! (It is clearly stated in the chapter itself, but I’m just saying that again because I am me).
> 
> In the bottom author’s notes you will find information about this chapter and the next ones. You may want to read those before you read the chapter itself (there are no spoilers there).
> 
> This chapter may not have been sufficiently proofread, I am sorry if the mistake count is higher than the usual.

**Chapter thirty-seven**

**_Coronation_ **

 

 

Hundreds of years had passed. Many a thing had changed in the Nine of Yggdrasill and many more remained the same. Most changes occurred in the realm that turned the quickest of all others, only Midgard was swift in bringing the new and unseen – in accord with the short and fast lives of its inhabitants. Beings died and were born, worldwide wars were waged – but none large enough to overtake a neighboring planet, taking just one at a time. Minds matured, though some – less than it could have been expected. A great deal of things fell and arose, though some were destined to remain the same – or so it may have seemed...

One of those things, a thing unwilling to embrace change and battling to gain the name of a constant, was the relationship between the second-born Prince of Asgard and the half-blood Princess of Vanaheim. Their union, created so long ago, remained as it was in its very first days. Even the princely duties belonging to the Heir of Realm Eternal failed to truly interfere and the mystical bond that bound the two Gods together – had only grown stronger. Although there may have been things that they would have liked to change – they did not grieve what they did not have. Sorrow could not be a guest where reality resembling fantasy ( _or perhaps it was fantasy that hid reality in a shawl of oblivion?_ ) reigned. In the lovers’ childish naïveté what they had was perfect and they couldn’t imagine it being anything else.

Life in Asgard appeared to have remained the same. But a new dawn, which had been foretold, was drawing near – promising another _golden_ age of prosperity... Although the changes that had happened in the highest branch of the World Tree were only marginal, it was not the same in Vanaheim. Whispers in the very closest of Vanaheim were heard, a rumor of a Queen’s return. But this knowledge was limited even in the realm itself, such was not known by any other of the remaining eight. Peculiar things were occurring in that world, things that should not be happening, paths that had not been there before – were open. Even the consort of (the unelected, unrecognized, unofficial) Queen Sigyn knew little, but he hadn’t interested himself much in her affairs, having been busy with his own. Those occurrences as well as the possible presence of a new Monarch – were all in the shadows, though not sinister those shadows were, it was not to stay hidden for long – the forever watchful all-seeing eyes would not be kept ignorant for long...

* * *

 

The God of Trickery stood on the stairs of the grand dais in the Great Hall of Gladsheim. It was crowded, the hall was brimming not just with court’s people, nobility and other privileged individuals – everyone who could come was allowed entry to watch this historical event. Asgard was rejoicing, greeting a day long awaited. And despite the fact that the Allfather had tried to misguide some into thinking that this day could take a different path, everyone knew that there was only one course for it.

All eyes turned to the firstborn Prince – the true Heir of the Golden Throne. Loud ovations burst forth for the God of Thunder and he was reveling in it as was his right.

Loki could have hidden his emotions and disallowed them to play on his face so blatantly, however a mask was unnecessary when the attention of all was focused someplace else. Even Frigga, his own mother – probably one of the few pillars of support the God of Magic ever had, did not spare a glance his way. So it was of no importance what his visage looked like, he would be unnoticed anyway (not a very rare happening if the fact was worthy of mentioning).

It was not envy, greener than the envy-green garments that he wore, that was showing through his lax attempts at freezing his features into a façade of nonchalance. The emotions that ruled him differed from that by a huge ravine of difference. He was not jealous of Thor, for it was his brother’s day and it was progressing as it was supposed to. Alas while he had no wish to trade places with his older sibling, thus did not mean that he was certain of this coronation.

It appeared that no one else shared his worries concerning the Strom God’s ascension to the Throne, well, no one that was _present_. His lover (or _wife_ as Asgard would have him say) was not there by his side, she was not standing a step from him (instead there stood Lady Sif and that was an unpleasant substitute to say the least). However it was so by his design – it had been a long time since they last saw each other.

Sigyn had known that the coronation was going to occur soon, though he had not bothered to tell her how soon that would be. He was aware that she too was unconvinced of the Thunder God’s ability to rule Realm Eternal and he was also aware that if he would have told her of when it was to happen – she would have been there for him. Not just that, if he would have told her of his plot – he was quite certain that even if she wouldn’t have agreed with it (though that was unlikely) she would have gone with him anyway. But he did not wish her to be involved in this, not because he feared for her safety – with how well he had planned this out, it was impossible for things to go down a different path than the one he had dug – it was simply because it was his concern and his royal duty (and that of a sibling’s) and not hers.

His woman felt often the same as he did, sometimes even with greater and more volatile reactions than his. Having her worried over his troubles was not something he wanted. Therefore he had told her nothing and avoided conversing about the upcoming power-shift in his home. He had even made sure to shut out their bond slightly – so that she would not sense his turbulent emotions.  

Gungnir was brought down onto the ground, the hall fell silent. Thor knelt down and removed his feathered helmet. The ascension began.

The God of Lies and Deceit was trying to temper himself, though his fists and jaw remained forcefully clenched. He yet hoped for the Odinfather to change his mind and delay the coronation for the sake of being truly convinced of his firstborn’s readiness for this unspeakable responsibility.

Alas, no such thing came. And as the second-born had expected – he was right to take the matters into his own hands. It was not to say that he doubted his brother, but he had no evidence to be certain that this was the right time for such a great step. Therefore it was only sensible that if the God of Wisdom would not test the Golden Prince one last time – then the God of Magic would have to do so himself...

The procession was dragging on and the oaths seemed to last too long to be fit into a century. Worry and anxiety began treacherously gnawing at the Sorcerer’s gut. Had something gone awry? But that was not possible... was it? He knew, he was _certain_ , that there was no trace leading back to him – but fear was beginning to frost into fractal-like patterns within his mind, growing larger and more defined with every second. _Where were they?_

Everything broke with just two words, and only one person was relieved to hear the words from the Aesir King’s mouth.

_“Frost Giants”_

* * *

 

The scene in the Weapon’s Vault was branded onto his mind as the Trickster lurked behind pillars of gold in the open-spaced hall, which provided the vista of an equally golden sunset. Truly a _Golden day_ , he thought to himself idly, it was not like the skies would be frosted over or tainted by his machinations – it would be foolish to presume such. His actions were the equivalent of throwing a pebble into a lake – ripples were created, but made no sign of universal magnitude.

He heard how the tables were upturned and how plates and trays fell to the ground with unforgivably loud metallic clangs. The exchange in Odin’s treasury replayed before his eyes over and over again – he was trying to reevaluate it and find what he was looking for. Alas the search was not successful (and he wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for anyway); he wanted to build the case for the gain of his sibling – but no evidence for it or against it was vividly apparent. He needed to be certain, he needed to find what he was looking for.

The God extracted from his conscious the remembrance how his eyes had flickered from father to brother. His mind had tried and was still trying to assess the situation without being biased as much as was possible. There was nothing yet that would discredit the had-to-be King. What the older male had expressed were valid concerns, though the words the still-Ruler of Asgardians had said were just as true. The God of Thunder was too active in his tactics, the God of Wisdom – perhaps a bit too passive. A mediator was required to find the golden-middle, and were the situation any different (if the Lie God would not be directly involved) – he would have offered a better solution that would have taken the best of both sides and gotten rid of the worst. Though whether his council would have been taken into account was not certain (it was always a gamble for the Trickster God on whether he would be heard of ignored).

The firstborn Heir was too rash, but that was nothing new and did not lay solid proof against him. It was also to be expected – the man’s day of ultimate glory was ruined – rage (of varying levels of course) would have been the response of nearly any person. It was Thor, _Thor_ for Norns’ sake, he had a greater amplitude of emotions than most – that was simply his temper and Loki had known that.

He was uncertain and he had to be certain, he refused to allow his efforts to be for naught. He needed more information. He needed to try harder. This test was not to occur later, it was going to happen _now_.

Turning on his heel he slowly moved around the pillar. His steps were feather-light but he consciously allowed them to be heard so that his presence could be acknowledged. And as he was familiar with the steps of his brother – it was only natural to be the other way around as well (unless the Magician wanted to remain undetected).

A warning was heard but ignored (there was no true threat at being in the Storm God’s presence now, well, not for him at least). And the deceitful one knew that some warnings were worth ignoring.

The silver-tongued male expected the thunderous one to be adamant on being left alone and that he would have to use words, with which he was so gifted, to convince Thor otherwise. However that did not happen, indirectly the Thunder God was asking for reassurance and it was no difficulty to give that to him. There was no lie in his words, he believed that that day of triumph was going to happen and that the ascension to Throne will occur, but how soon was that day to come he did not yet know.

He felt other presences bare moments before they had stepped foot into the chamber; he had been too focused into his devastated and furious brother to have noticed them earlier. Before the warrior band could distract his sibling – that way ruining what he was so bent on achieving, he leaned closer and started talking to the elder God with hushed words.

He goaded him with honest agreements to what the firstborn Prince had expressed in the vault. And now came the time to utter the final sentence, to put out the bait (which he hoped, fervently hoped, would not be taken). Alas what occurred was what the God of Deceit had feared, the bait was taken with unspeakable greediness, the idea he had planted in the other’s head took root without a second’s thought. He tried to calm himself – not all was lost yet, he had to try and mend this – and maybe, maybe, the God of Thunder would not fail the test.

Swift opposition sprung from his throat, with all the honest wish to be heard. But it just didn’t happen, his nay-saying was ignored and fell upon deaf ears. It was already decided – and that was all the evidence he needed to be certain that the final test his dear, _foolish_ brother did not pass. The God of Trickery shielded his face with the palm of his hand.

He did not want to believe this, he did _not_ want to believe that the trial was failed and that they all might _die_ consequentially. For that was what awaited them in Jotunheim – possible death; and it didn’t matter that their friends did not see eye to eye with Thor yet, it was only a matter of minutes until they would be convinced. The man could be convincing if he wanted to be, especially if the people he tried to persuade admired him (and that meant nearly the entirety of Realm Eternal). With the God of Lies having been left ignored by the older Prince, after the Warriors Three and Sif would take up the ludicrous mission – whatever he’d say would be ignored by them as well.

Sure, entering that despicable world was not a certain way to fall into one’s tomb – however it would be the kind of visitation that had (almost) certain doom written all over it. He was sure that no lurking would be involved, which was the only thing (because magic was a given) that had allowed the lurker to realize that faultless scheme of entering the Cold World before. It was going to be a bold barge-in on the Jotunn King’s door and a fated-to-fail attempt at reckoning. It was pure suicide – and since he could not stop this insane idea from happening – he was definitely coming with them (and hopefully his involvement would give them more of a chance of survival).

He did not want to remove his hand from his physiognomy, his thoughts didn’t know whether to be sorrowfully disappointed or accusing.

_Oh Thor, why did you have to fail?..._

%MCEPASTEBIN%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we’re finally done with the pre-movie arc and now we’ve entered the realm of the movie-verse! I will be writing about both of the Thor movies and the Avengers, however I will not be doing so scene by scene. I am sure that most of the readers have seen the films and so there is no actual need to put everything about them to the written word, additionally such meticulous fanfictions do exist in the fandom (I am pretty sure there are many more than the ones I’ve encountered), so that has already been done and it’s not a loss since you can read such elsewhere.
> 
> I will not be putting down any of the dialogue from the movies into this story, only the general idea of what had been said will be written. That is so because I do not have an English version of the first Thor movie (and I think that is the case with the other two as well), it is not even Lithuanian over-dubbing with the original language still audible in the background – it is a full Russian dub. It would simply take too much time for me to download the English versions and writing down the actual dialogues is too much time consuming – since it can be written in a way that would still be clear (at least to the ones who had seen the films) without being strictly specific.
> 
> Some movies may be touched much more than the others (it is possible that the Avengers will be touched the least; and I will not be waiting for the third Thor or the second Avengers movie – so they are not likely to be included in any way in this story). Most of the scenes will be canon (since this fic is heavy on the introspective – the characters’ thoughts and motivations behind one action or another – may not be what the authors of the films had intended), but there will also be tidbits that are not part of the movies. If there is any serious canon divergence – the readers will be warned.
> 
> For these chapters the pacing of the story is much quicker, that is because these scenes are not the main focus of the story-line; fear not though – the excessively detailed ones will be back once the movie arc will be over with.   
> This chapter and the ones that I have pre-written were intended to incorporate more of the canon scenes and be lengthier albeit fewer, however seeing as I am very busy – in order to be able to update sooner I had chosen to shorten them which consequentially increases their number.
> 
> Also if there is anything unclear in this chapter or the upcoming ones – do ask me, I encourage that, and I will answer your questions and clear up any hazy parts.
> 
> I think that that’s it, so buckle up and let’s head further into the movie-verse! (I’ve been reading too much Alien/Predator/Prometheus fiction lately, lol).


	38. Disobedience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am incredibly busy nowadays, therefore the time I’d used for writing has been severely shortened. Both Prophecies and Whims of Ice are not going on hiatus, however their updates are not likely to become regular soon.  
> Again, forgive me if the grammatical error count is higher than the norm – my time for proofreading has suffered as well.

**Chapter thirty-eight**

**_Disobedience_ **

Appearances were misleading. The hoof-falls were near silent on the Rainbow Bridge. The sound was not drown out by the rushing winds created by the fast running of the horses, nor by the movement of the sea. The Bifrost appeared to be deceptively fragile – yet the bridge leading to the spherical observatory was not. When great impact fell onto something resilient – the sound was often as immense as the clashing of the forces, however that was not the case in this instance. The sound was devoured by the Rainbow Bridge.

Though the Dark Prince had researched this one-of-a-kind structure, both in publically accessible and less so materials, there was little of substance to be found on it. Therefore he could only theorize that the sound of impact that the Rainbow Bridge absorbed was part of its design. The energy required for it to work had to be enormous – and since no singular source of power had ever been named (as far as he knew), the energy had to be gathered from a variety of sources.

He remembered what his love had said about the Bifrost (though in truth her words were theories, just like his, and not verified facts, but her success rate of being right on instinct alone was high enough to make her theories quite reliable and trustworthy). She’d said that the crystalline bridge was more powerful than known by the knowledgeable minds, therefore the energy used to make it function was highly volatile. Such a concept was quite obvious (that great power was unpredictable), although with how she’d stressed that fact of the Rainbow Bridge’s power could have meant that its dangerousness was on a whole different level than was considered. However that was not the most peculiar part of that past conversation.

The half-blood Princess had also noted that it was unnatural, which, again, appeared to be an obvious thing. A structure that was not created by nature but built by creatures – could not be considered natural (especially one that denied distances and time required to cross them – warping these factors so much that it was truly unbelievable). He had then compared the Bifrost with portals built between worlds, but she had refuted that comparison – claiming the latter to be quite natural. Apparently the _constant_ that those portals had been constructed successfully relied on locations where the fabric of reality was thinner or torn – was only _partially_ correct. According to the Lady, the ancient pathways, which had not been created by mortal or immortal hand, were branches of the World Tree, which connected the Nine in more places than the Master of Magic was aware. The portals however _were_ to be found where reality was thin, however they were natural because they were either built on smaller and less sturdy branches and/or the magic used to build them had attracted the vines to slightly bend out of their original path of growth.

The Boundary Denying Goddess had even theorized that her power over boundaries was not very unnatural as well. She had explained it by comparing herself to a bird, one that cannot fly but can glide above a branch and safely land on it – though she has some power on where she lands, the path the branch she has glided along takes determines her final destination.

The Rainbow Bridge was unnatural, as she’d told him, because it did not follow nor even temporarily bended a branch of Yggdrasill. Instead it ripped reality, whether the fabric of it was thick or thin – whichever was irrelevant to it. The Universe healed itself, though his lover had not told him her opinion on how long it took for the damage of these travels to be corrected or if there were any consequences – she’d said about the aforementioned that she thought that it varied, as for the latter – she simply did not know.

And in a true Vanir fashion, Sigyn did not put too much trust in anything she considered highly unnatural. Therefore she was moderately suspicious of the Bifrost. He himself however had chosen not to bother with such unnecessary paranoia, though the information she’d shared (which was probably true anyway) was not unappreciated.

He shook himself from his (successfully distractive) thoughts about the bridge and musings on how strong ( _destructive_ ) an impact should be that the impressive construction would not be able to absorb it. The present moment called to his attention, alas his mind was more interested in studying the events of today and trying to find the point where everything had gone so terribly wrong (though he already knew when that was).

The God of Mischief had half-expected that this madness would be stopped before they would get this far. It was not an entirely impossible thing to wish for, considering Thor’s bull-charge to the stables. Alas, when detection was certain, the moment when a different approach counted – the Golden Prince had changed tactics and their party had remained unseen. However the God of Deceit refused to rely on chance. Despite the fact that many a thing had been orchestrated by him – Thor had held the reigns over how today was going to end, but Loki was not going to let his brother’s choices have deadly consequences.

After the group dismounted he insisted upon getting the pass from the Guardian of the Rainbow Bridge, who calmly stood before the observatory with his hands dutifully resting on the sword-key. Having met no opposition he approached Heimdall with a deceptively light step. The burning gaze of the Aesir God turned to him – at the same time looking at him and through him, seemingly observing him and yet everything but him. The man’s all-seeing eyes were unnerving, however knowing that his deceit had shrouded those eyes not once – he was able to meet them without hesitance.

His seemingly confident and unburdened words belied his conflicted mind (but was he not the God of Lies? It was no surprise that he could turn everything into pure deception). He did not need to search for what to say, warping truth was an instinctual reaction of his (oftentimes easier than telling the outright truth). However he was not even allowed to finish the sentence. His words were met with an instant rebuke that was disguised as an observation or a hazy advice (though what the Guardsman said was true – but heavy furs worn by everyone would have definitely given their objective away) and a question. It was truly a rare occurrence, very few creatures could ever tell the very first instant that he was lying, and such a thing was beyond vexing. But his lies could not be thwarted so easily and he did not need to pause, not even for a fraction of a second, to continue pouring his silver-lined words.

He was interrupted a second time, however it was not Heimdall who did it and it was an entirely different interruption. The word said to force his speech into vanishing left the taste of electricity on his tongue.

“Enough!” the Storm God bade in tempered volume, but he heard it loud like a thunder-roar.

The clever words died in the Lie God’s throat, so quickly and definitely as though fettered with magic. His green orbs were paralyzed and unseeing, cast away somewhere downwards as he tried to remain unfeeling. It was not the first time that his sibling had stressed his authority and though it wasn’t always that the younger accepted and abided by it – he did concede not seldom. The emotions created by this were aplenty, something that could have been anger at the unfair distribution of power between the brothers may have also been present. But all of those emotional responses to the unconscious provocation were bottled up and shoved away somewhere deep into his subconscious, stoppered firmly with a sturdy cork. He did not allow himself to inspect the contents, being aware that any tampering with the container could have unpredictable consequences.

He had long since learned that he had to concede if he wanted to keep the status quo of his existence in Asgard. Always expressing his thoughts and reactions would doubtlessly shatter his precariously hanging position in Realm Eternal’s inner systematics. He knew when he had to keep quiet (alas he did not always act according to that awareness). The Master Sorcerer had always been different and frequently fell behind there where he was _supposed_ to excel. He had to be inconspicuous; the less noticeable he would be – the less questioned and punished (not rarely for ‘crimes’ he did not even commit) he’d be. However he could not be so inconspicuous, so ordinary and gray like the majority’s reflection, for that would make him conspicuous – he knew that. There was no true balance to be found, even if there was – well, whether he would try to blend in or not – he would be held as ‘strange’ either way. But things were not bound to eternally stay the same and the God of spell-craft knew that they could always turn for the worse. That was the very reason why no one in Asgard was truly aware how far his ‘strangeness’ ( _power_ ) went.

His eyes jumped back to watch the God of Thunder. He was not even trying to convince the Guardian to let them pass, it was apparently a given if Thor was the one asking. This should have rightfully angered the most convincing man of all, but it didn’t because cold, hard logic was there to douse the flames of anger. It should not have been a shock to find that Heimdall was willing to allow the Golden Throne Heir free reign, after all it was the firstborn who had almost become King and not the second-born (it was a breach of the Bifrost Guardsman’s oath, but it could have been a pretty loophole as well – that depended on interpretation).

With the permission to enter received, the group proceeded to the heart of the Rainbow Bridge. Only the envy-green God had remained standing for a mere moment more. Volstagg’s ‘well-meaning jest’ ( _mockery_ ) fell on unresponsive ears. He was too used to taunts to react to them violently (internally as well), he had more pressing matters on his mind anyway.

The burning-eyed God’s warning echoed in the Trickster’s head. So, the bridge would remain closed should its opening threaten Asgard – that was more than an alarming thing to know (even though there were other ways out).

The words Heimdall said were revealing secrets unwritten. The Bifrost itself was a weapon capable of causing destruction of a magnitude difficult to imagine (whether he should be glad for that or concerned for the safety of the other realms – he was not certain). And suddenly Sigyn’s words made so much more sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About the Rainbow Bridge – I had done a bit of research on it, but there was little else to be found on the Bifrost aside from what can be learned from the movies. The only tidbit which I was not aware of (because it is not stated in the cinematic universe), from one of the places that describes the movie!Bifrost, was that the Rainbow Bridge is powered by Asgard – which is a sketchy and hazy explanation, so I had allowed myself to ignore the fact or put more to it. All the unknown to me information came from the myth-verse and in my scarce search I hadn’t found much, and what I did was not useful to me. Therefore everything you had read in this chapter – the things that are not stated in the films – was conjured by my mind (and perhaps was also an attempt at foreshadowing). 
> 
> I think that is all and if something was unclear – ask and I shall try to clarify it for you.  
> Hope you enjoyed and ‘till next time!


	39. Jotunheim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope no one was alarmed by the change of my username/penname. I love my past alias very much, however I had to change it because I need to separate my other accounts (mainly those associated with my art) from my written endeavors.

**Chapter thirty-nine**

**_Jotunheim_ **

Jotunheim’s _welcome_ was that of cold and darkness. Though the second-born Prince was not bothered by that, it would be a mistake to say that he was unaffected. The physical aspect of the low temperature did not burden him, however the cold seeped deep into his bones and that felt utterly foreboding. The snow radiated whatever scarce light there was – none of the Asgardians were rendered blind and the dimness did not trouble Loki in the slightest. Alas it was different – and even though his sight remained unhindered – the darkness somehow threatened to consume him.

This was the second time he had traveled to this world and he felt just the same as he had the first. These lands were desolate and he could not understand what anyone could possibly want from this barren realm – there was _nothing_ here. The God of Magic had been to many strange places and the Realm of Frost should not have ranked higher than any other – but it did. Even the Unnamed Realms did not feel like this. The roots of the Ash Tree had an ethereal sensation of waiting for something (something that he believed to be the Ruler, who could fulfill the world’s purpose), but Jotunheim felt emptier (though it wasn’t empty) than the hollow of a void.

If he stressed it, then in these abstract sensations – maybe there was something else. The Cold World couldn’t have always been empty, something had had to be there to fill that emptiness (though he wasn’t sure that it was so, perhaps it was just that this planet was simply an abnormality in itself). And there was something, something akin to yearning. But he concluded that if Jotunheim yearned for anything – then it was only bloodshed.

To him this place felt like a singularity, which should not have existed in the first place. It was like an error created by the Universe and for some unknown reason allowed to continue its existence. If the Allfather’s doctrine would have been different – Asgard would have destroyed what the Universe had not undone. The Master of spell-craft was not sure whether it had been the right decision to allow this wound on Yggdrasill to fester.

He barely heard his brother’s explanation on the lack of Jotunns around the area, he was too distracted with trying to notice any in the shadows. Thor claimed it to be cowardice, which had forced the creatures of ice into hiding – but the Lie God knew better. Senseless monsters were nothing to be afraid of, not for Realm Eternal – and if that would have been the case – the Golden World would have eliminated this threat even before the true war had begun. No, only intelligent monsters were worthy of the fear that the Frost Giants evoked. And the God of Mischief refused to underestimate these monsters.

He wasn’t seeing much of the vista, the shadows that could cloak Jotunns were his focus. Too focused he was with that to inspect the surrounding with something else than a tactical perspective. With such hasty observing it was extremely difficult to tell which structures were inversed mountains, of something between rock and ice, and which were ruins of towering buildings.  

The raven-haired man had not wanted to see these lands again, however his desires had been ignored by the Norns. So he wished for this to be the last time that he would lay eyes upon Jotunheim, but that it would not be the _last_ _sight_ that he saw.

The landing from the Bifrost had not been far from the palace of Jotunheim or perhaps more accurately what had been a palace – now the place was merely wreckage. It was difficult to detect something alien in an alien land, however the Master of Magic was certain that the movement in the shadows was no trick of light.

An overpowering, low voice rang through the area, echoing greatly because of the good acoustics the icy structures provided. The voice seemed to come deep from the dome, playing morbidly and reverberating from every cave and cavern, leaving no crevice silent. He recognized it instantly – _Laufey_ , the King of Jotunheim.

Though he’d heard that voice not for the first (and with similar theatrics involved, therefore sounding not unlike before) – it affected him greatly, which had not been the case last time, and it wasn’t the spoken promise of certain death to blame either. He allowed his brother’s words to pass through his ears, ignoring the direct introduction and stating of purpose. Usually such tactlessness would at the very least irk him – but not right now (his mind was occupied with dissecting a different thing altogether). And it wasn’t the first that he had gotten tangled into a similar situation (with or without Thor’s meddlesome presence) – where dying was a high possibility, and it wasn’t the first that he stood in front of powerful persons (or monsters). However this time was somehow different and it left him feeling uncharacteristically unsettled, a feeling he was not used to. That menacing voice made chills dance down his back, tickling the man’s spine with needles – the cold of this world was not at fault though.

The answers the God of Thunder demanded were given and there was no lie to be found in them. In the time interval from when the Frost Giant Ruler began answering to when it ended – the God of Deceit experienced a huge wave of anxiety; truth burned – he knew that. With how honest, icily confident and apathetic the response was – it appeared as though the Ice Jotunn was going to point at Loki and reveal him as the traitor. It was an irrational fear, the God of Lies knew that even as he was experiencing it; the Giant King was not aware of who had shown him the pathway to Asgard. There wasn’t even the slightest chance that the Frost Jotunn could have seen through his deceitful disguise. But that didn’t matter for the fear was strong enough to cling onto him for that full moment.

The answer was denied (but wasn’t truth always treated that way? Well, it seemed that at least when the Trickster God said it – that was the case). The Storm God roared in outrage, biding the royal Ice Giant to not dare insult the Allfather’s name with lies again.

The Jotunn stood up from his throne, a motion of frightening speed and brimming with anger, standing high up and monumental in a monstrous way. The beastly, sanguine-eyed creature had the green eyes of the God of Trickery chained to his visage. And for the time being Laufey was the most fear imposing Ruler he had ever seen.

The Leader of Giants spoke once more and though a part of the Dark Prince did not want to admit it – the words spoken were wise. The speech was that of a true King’s (or at least of one who had learned his lesson). From what the being of frost defined the Thunder God’s actions to be – to what they would unleash, if the Asgardians would be allowed to proceed – all was undeniably true. Jotunheim’s King’s words rang truer still when Thor opened his mouth, further confirming that what he craved were not answers but a battle.

The second-born was distracted by the sound of ice forming, his sight confirming blades of frost conjuring at the hands of the Jotunns. He wasted no time approaching his sibling, whispering to him council unasked for. The Aesir were surrounded, they were outnumbered – they were doomed to perish. His words – though not silverine but as reasonable as anything in this Universe could possibly be – were denied.

He was told, by his own brother, to remember his place ( _behind the Golden one, unworthy of the Golden one..._ ). He’d heard those words from him before and he could count each time on just one hand – but thus did not mean that those words ( _the truth_ ) were easy to ignore, that it was easy to remain unhurt by them. This time however the words lacked the sting that he usually felt. Later he would probably remember them and seethe against his will, for right now his emerald orbs and ingenious mind were too focused into getting them out of here alive.

The chance to survive came and it was a chance that the Trickster was not planning to allow to slip away. The older God’s words (threat) was fortunately ignored by the icy Ruler, apparently the Frost Giant knew better than to discard so many lives just for the sake of destroying a nuisance of a _boy_. He told them that unlike the Thunderer – he knew what this would bring and his red eyes looked distant and haunted as he’d said it (somehow that look made the situation more dreadful for the God of Mischief, as if he was about to face the same losses that King Laufey had).

Before the firstborn could destroy the hope beyond re-forging – the God of Magic answered for him. He stepped forth when he shouldn’t have, he said something that wasn’t his to say – breaking his predetermined place ( _behind the Golden one, unworthy of the Golden one..._ ). But if that was what it took to make sure they all wouldn’t die – then he didn’t even have to think before making the decision to intervene. He accepted the gracious offer, and it was truly gracious – much more than the younger God could have expected.

Not waiting for the Monarch to change his mind he turned around, beckoning his brother to follow. Thor followed reluctantly, though the anger, contempt, frustration and humiliation were coming off of him like invisible shocks of lighting.

He’d thought it done with, he’d thought that the Golden World was theirs to reach now – but only a few words could upturn it all and upturn it all they did.

A huge Giant that had stood before them, having placed himself between the Odinsons and his Leader, said something that would cost him his life or precariously close to that. The being called the elder Prince a ‘princess’, mocking the man – and that man never took ridiculing his person rationally.

The Master Magician should have raged, at least internally, that the situation was about to get so much worse – when all was supposed to have ended well. He should have been furious with something, anything – be it his brother, the damn Frost Giant or the Cold World as a whole – but he was not. His mentality was all in exhausted sighs, all emotions forgotten (even the hint, or more than just a hint, of fear was gone). He felt too tired, he felt that this model of behavior had gotten old centuries ago.

Mjölnir was swung. Thor was gleeful in the glory of battle and Loki was tired, disappointed at another failure counting.


End file.
